


Quid Pro Quo

by Fixy



Series: If it pleases the Court... [1]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: A divorce lawyer au, Cheating, Divorce, Emotionally abusive relationship between niko and eve, F/F, It is no longer a slow burn, More tags to come!, Phone sex is here now too, S q u I r t I n g, Slow Burn, Smut, TW: Emotionally Abusive Relationship, That prick Raymond is in it now, This fic is explicit isn’t it, a lot of smut, and court stuff, booty slapping, but the burn will happen and bitch it will be bright, but wanted to have a go, it is still a slow burn, not the only divorce lawyer au in this fandom, other scandalous little things, slooooooow burn like really slow, these are my additional tags, we got eating of the you know what, we got emotional feelings post coitus, we got fingerblasting against a door or wall or something, we got thigh riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:53:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 128,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21637660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fixy/pseuds/Fixy
Summary: Divorces are sad and expensive and time consuming, so it helps when your solicitor isn’t all that bad.Or!A divorce au featuring ‘I fell asleep on my arms’ Eve and business attire Barbie
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Series: If it pleases the Court... [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1998886
Comments: 2097
Kudos: 4164





	1. The heart of the home

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back pals!!
> 
> This isn’t the only divorce lawyer AU in the fandom, but I wanted to have a go.
> 
> Five chapters have been written but not sure if I’ll update as regularly as Every Rose because OH BOY divorces requires a lot of research! Good thing my best friend is an accomplished lawyer, ey?
> 
> Enjoy this very short intro (or don’t! I’m not going to tell you how to live your life) xo

“For god’s sake Niko, I am  _ not _ doing this again!” 

“Because you know I’m right.”

“That is not why and you know it.”

It’s the third time this week that they’re arguing. 

It’s Friday. 

“Oh, we’re  _ not _ arguing because you’re late home  _ again _ ? Well then colour me confused, Eve, because I’m pretty fucking sure that’s why!”

“I’m a journalist, I have to work late some days, it’s been this way for years and we’ve had this conversation a million times!”

They’re in the kitchen. It doesn’t always happen in the kitchen, but most of their fights happen here. 

People often say ‘the kitchen is the heart of the home’. 

Well. 

“Exactly! You’re a bloody journalist, not a doctor, you don’t  _ need _ to work late. Is it too much to ask for you to come home and spend some time with your husband?”

“I’ve said again and again that it isn’t up to me-”

“Don’t blame this on the fucking story again Eve, I swear to god-”

“If something massive has happened and I have to write about it for the next day then yeah, it’s the fucking story! You  _ know _ this!”

Niko is sat at the table, hands curled together into a fist pressed against his mouth as he shakes his head. 

Eve stands behind a chair, facing him, a hand in her hair gripping at roots. 

“You’re not special, Eve.” Niko says through gritted teeth. “If your story doesn’t get done, the world doesn’t end.”

It stings. 

It’s a familiar pain at this point. 

“It is my job. I have to do my job.” She tries to say it calmly. 

“And I am your  _ husband _ , what about me?” 

“What about  _ me _ ?!” Her shout echoes in the small room. “For fuck’s sake Niko, what about me? I work all day, it’s high pressure and exhausting, then I get home to you in a sulk with me! I get home to  _ you _ wanting to watch a certain film, to  _ you _ wanting to order certain food, to  _ you _ telling me that I don’t think about you enough!” 

He sits silently, staring coldly. 

“My late hours aren’t the only problem here, Niko.” Eve’s hands fly out to the side. “I am not the only one to blame.”

Niko scoffs. 

He takes an angry gulp of whisky, ice clinking in the tumbler. 

“This is not my fault. I am doing nothing wrong.”

“Oh get off your high fucking horse.” Eve snaps. “It takes two to dance this nightmare of a tango.”

“Now you’re calling our marriage a nightmare?”

“No, Niko, Jesus Christ!” Eve cries out angrily, looking at the ceiling helplessly. “I’m calling the problems a nightmare! And there you go, that’s one of the issues on our list: you only hear what you want to hear. You always twist what I say and use it against me!”

“That’s so far from the truth-”

“Is it? Is it  _ really _ ?” She bites out. “So you accusing me of calling you lazy when I asked if you’d done the laundry last week  _ wasn’t _ twisting my words?” 

“You were implying it.” Niko growls. “You were being passive aggressive, you were accusing me-”

Eve half shrieks exasperatedly. 

“I wasn’t accusing you of anything! I just wanted to know if you’d done it so I knew whether to do it or not! I’d been at work-”

“Hiding from me, as usual-”

“ _ Working _ , Niko, working! And I was home at half 7, you make it sound like I stay away until midnight!”

“It might as well be midnight.” Niko says bitterly, crossing his arms. 

“I try so hard to spend time with you when I’m home.” Eve says, starting to feel weary. “I try so hard, but every time I’m the littlest bit late you act as though I’ve committed a crime. You sit there with your arms crossed, scowling, barely saying a word to me.”

Niko uncrosses his arms. 

Eve continues. 

“I want to spend time with you, but you are so permanently furious with me that I’m not even sure you know  _ why _ you’re angry half the time.”

“I’m angry because you’re never here, because you don’t care about me.”

“Jesus, we are a scratched record.” Eve says with a slightly manic laugh. “It’s the same thing every time. Okay, come on Niko, tell me why everything is my fault.”

“You’re never here.” Niko says triumphantly as he stands up, looking borderline delighted at the opportunity. “You never try, you never pay attention, you never ask how I’m doing, how my job is-”

Eve slams a hand on the table. 

“Like you ask  _ me _ ?”

Niko stays silent. 

“When was the last time you asked me how I am? How my job is going? When was the last time you paid attention to me in a way that wasn’t you funnelling your fury at me? In a way that didn’t result in you being the victim?”

“God, you are so self centred. This isn’t about you, Eve.”

“No, it’s not, it’s about  _ both of us _ , but you can’t seem to get past the notion that there might be two people at fault here.”

“You think you’re so important.” Niko sneers, hands on the back of the chair, holding himself up as he leans forward. “You think you’re so important, and above it all.”

“I can assure you I think  _ none _ of that.” Eve says, voice getting thick with emotion at the poisonous tone in Niko’s voice. “I’m just a person trying to do her job well, and trying to communicate with her husband who refuses to talk to her when she’s only an hour late-”

“You think you’re better than me.” Niko continues with condescending smile, stepping around the table and shaking his head, “but you know what you are, really?”

Eve says nothing. She blinks back tears as Niko stops in front of her. It’s quiet, only the ticking of the clock on their wall as the soundtrack to their breakdown.

Niko chuckles, and it’s sour.

“You’re heartless, Eve. You are  _ heartless _ .”

The clock continues to tick. 

Eve can’t stop the sob that leaves her at the shattering insult. 

She aches.

“And you are a lot of things, Niko, but I never thought you were cruel.”

“I learnt it from you, darling.” He says coldly, leaning his face close to hers. “I used to be a good man, and then I married  _ you _ .”

It feels like the air has been pressed from her lungs. 

And the worst thing is, it’s not the first time he’s said it. 

Niko walks away from her slowly, makes his way to the living room, sits on the sofa, switches on the tv. 

He finds a documentary, black and white, something about war. 

He leans back, arms across the back cushions, posture confident and calm. 

Eve watches the back of his head as her heart threatens to rip its way from her chest. God, it  _ hurts _ . 

Years of trying, only to be ignored and told it wasn’t enough. She books tables in restaurants, it’s not enough. She suggests weekends away, it’s not enough. She offers to make dinner, it’s not enough. 

It’s never enough. 

She isn’t sure what Niko expects of her, when he calls her selfish and says she doesn’t care about him. What is he looking for? What does he want Eve to do? Her attempts are never what he wants. 

She thinks that maybe he hates her, has hated her for years, but loves the feeling of angry vindication in his stomach too much to  _ see _ that it’s hatred. She thinks that maybe he loves to hate her. She thinks that maybe it makes him feel good. 

He always has had issues with sharing blame. 

Once, on a date early in their relationship, they ordered a bottle of wine. Niko only wanted one glass, so Eve drank the rest. She was tipsy and giggly and having fun, but Niko was angry. Accused her of getting drunk and sloppy. She defended herself, said the wine was for the two of them, said if he only wanted a glass then why did he order the bottle? He’d ignored that comment and stayed angry. 

He always uses ‘you think you’re better than me’ in arguments, when it’s clear as day that Niko is the one with the superiority complex in this relationship. 

No matter what Eve does, it’s wrong, and poor Niko suffers. No wonder she started avoiding him by taking on extra work.

Yes, there are two people to blame in this relationship, two people at fault in this marriage. 

She stares at the back of his head while she stands in the heart of their home. 

“I want a divorce.”

Her own words shock her, but they feel right on her tongue. 

The air stills. 

Niko doesn’t move, but she knows he heard her. 

“This isn’t working. We can’t keep fighting like this. Neither of us are happy.”

With each shaky word, Eve feels stronger. 

“My efforts will never be enough for you. My time will never be split the way you want it to be. We’re both facing walls that can’t be moved anymore.”

She watches Niko’s hand clench the sofa cushion. 

Eve says it again. Finalises it. A stamped wax seal. 

“I want a divorce.”

Niko turns his head and stares at her over his shoulder. 

“A divorce?”

“You can’t be surprised.” Eve says quietly with a shake of her head. “Don’t act like you didn’t know this would happen eventually.”

Niko stares at her. 

The clock ticks. 

“Okay.”

Eve’s chest tightens further. 

“Okay?”

“Yes. Okay.”

He sounds tired. 

Eve holds her breath to stop the sob from escaping as Niko stands up. He walks towards her wearily, stops in front of her, rubs both hands across his face. 

“Are you… okay?” Eve asks, voice watery, because she still cares, of course she still cares. 

“I will be.” Niko says. 

He stares down at her. 

She aches. 

He sighs. 

“I deserve better than you.”

His words are quiet and empty, and they push pins into the already broken heart beating painfully behind her ribs. She wants to reach in and scoop it out, fix it, stick it back together with tape to stop the hurt before gently placing it back inside. 

It will rattle loosely in her chest, but the hollow feeling will surely be more bearable than the clenching pain of loss that currently grips it. 

Niko has gone upstairs. She hears him close the door to their bedroom, the usual indication from Niko that Eve should sleep in the guest bedroom tonight. She keeps spare pyjamas in there now, with how often he seems to banish her to it. 

God,  _ how _ did this not happen sooner. 

Eve has never felt a hurt like this. It’s all encompassing and yet not a shock to her system in the slightest. She collapses onto the sofa and sobs into a cushion. She sobs for her lost marriage, for her broken relationship, for the man she used to love with every fibre of her being.

His words tonight, Christ, they  _ burned _ . She didn’t know he had that kind of venom in him. They were awful, stinging things that he’s not said before but clearly meant, and they burn her insides like acid. 

She sobs because she still loves Niko in some way. You can’t be married for thirteen years and not still love that person at least a little, a fraction. Despite his words tonight, despite how standoffish he’s become these last couple of years, despite how much he’s made Eve feel like nothing she tried to do was enough, she still loves him for the man he once was. 

Eventually, the tears stop. She doesn’t know how much time has passed, doesn’t know how long her face has been pressed into the soft velvet of the sofa cushion, but she cries until she can’t. 

And then she sits up. 

She wipes at her face, stands up, switches off lights, locks the door. 

Heads up the stairs and into the guest room, strips down to nothing, crawls under the duvet, curls up. 

Stays there until her breathing is even, until her heart no longer feels like it’s splitting. 

And then she sighs. 

Once the immediate pain and distress and fear subside, she’s left with a feeling that she knew would be there, buried beneath the nasty stuff that suffocates. It’s there, shining in the miserable gloom of her mind. 

Eve embraces it. 

_ Relief _ . 


	2. Tone down the enthusiasm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is there a better feeling than a good friend telling you they’re leaving a shitty relationship?

Eve takes a day to grieve. 

She heard on a podcast once that life is full of big and small deaths, and that every death deserves grieving time. Big deaths are the actual deaths, the loss of loved ones. Small deaths are anything else that changes your life in some way, from getting fired to getting divorced. 

So she called her boss to tell them she’d be working from home, and she let herself grieve. 

But the morning after that she tries to organise herself. She gets up and makes coffee, heart thumping sadly when Niko blanks her on his way out, and starts googling. 

‘Divorce lawyers in London’

It takes 15 minutes for her to close the window and drop her face into her hands. 

Divorces are… a lot. 

They’re pain and relief and confusing and really really  _ fucking _ expensive. It’s overwhelming emotion and financial stress all rolled into one heavy rock that sits on her chest until she can’t breathe, she can’t breathe-

She leaves the house. 

The spring air feels good on her face and in her lungs, and Eve walks. She walks and walks until she realises hours have passed and her feet hurt and she’s not entirely sure where she is, so lost she was in a haze of  _ ‘what the fuck do I do now? _ ’.

She passes a cafe with small tables outside and potted flowers by the door, then backtracks to it and stops at the front. 

A coffee and a sit down sound wonderful right about now. 

She pulls out her phone and sends off a desperate text, then goes inside. 

——

Eve sits by the cafe’s window and watches people walk by while sipping her coffee. There’s an almond croissant sat in front of her, bought as a sort of personal encouragement to eat something, but it stays untouched. 

She feels… disconnected. Lost. But she feels sure.

She just needs someone else to confirm it. 

“Well well well, don’t you look bloody awful.”

Eve feels a warmth fill her chest for the first time in days. 

“Bill.” 

She sighs his name as she stands, then walks straight into his open arms. 

“That hat is terrible.” Eve mumbles into his chest. 

“You bought it for me.” He chuckles somewhere above her, and she manages to smile. 

“What a mistake.” She says. Her voice is watery with emotion and Bill must notice, because he pulls her away from him gently and looks at her. 

“What’s happened?” He asks with a furrowed brow. 

Eve nods towards the table for Bill to sit then orders a coffee for him. She doesn’t say anything while she waits, and neither does Bill. He just stares at her with that concerned half-smile she knows so well. 

The coffee arrives. 

Neither touch their drinks. 

“So. Do you want me to guess?”

Eve huffs a laugh at Bill and frowns a little, despite her smile. 

“I’m not a child.”

“No,” Bill nods, “you’re not.” Silence. “But do you want me to guess?”

Eve purses her lips. 

“Fine.” She lifts her mug and takes a deep sip of coffee

“Okay.” Bill smiles and shuffles in his seat, settling. “You’re pregnant.”

Coffee goes down the wrong way and Eve chokes, spluttering as Bill laughs. 

“Seriously Bill?” She manages to get out while coughing. 

“Of course not.” He chuckles. “I’m just trying to get you out of your head a bit. Did it work?”

“No, idiot.” Eve tries to maintain the frown but Bill’s raised eyebrows have her sighing in defeat. “Niko and I are getting divorced.”

Bill blinks. 

“Huh. I was expecting to have to spend another ten minutes guessing.”

Eve looks up at Bill, dragging her gaze away from the dark coffee steaming in her mug. 

“That’s it?” She asks. “That’s all you have to say?”

“Well, what do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know,” Eve throws a hand up towards Bill in frustration. “how about ‘oh no Eve your poor thing’ or ‘oh Eve are you alright?’, or some other classic English politeness.”

Bill chuckles again and takes his hat off, hanging it on the back of his chair. 

“Why on earth would I say anything like that?” He questions, and Eve rolls her eyes. “I do believe the most appropriate response would be ‘bloody  _ finally’ _ , don’t you think?” 

Eve should’ve expected this really. Bill likes Niko, but he’s never been his number one fan. Any time Eve was upset, she’d go straight to Bill and pour her heart out, so she’s not sure why she thought she’d get some shocked, sympathetic reaction out of her best friend. 

“Okay, I get it.” Eve says before sighing sadly. “But could you maybe, like… tone down the enthusiasm a little? I’ve been married to the guy for thirteen years, after all. I know you’re excited but… just…” 

She trails off, unsure of where her sentence was going, and stares back down into her coffee. It’s quiet for a moment before Bill speaks again.

“I am sorry that you’re hurting, Eve.“ He says sincerely, and Eve looks back up as his hand covers hers still wrapped around her mug. “But I am not sorry about the divorce. Well, maybe for the effort and money side of it, but not for the result.”

Eve sighs again, feels as though every other breath she’s taken in the past two days has been a sigh, and Bill flashes his crooked half smile at her again.

“This is for the best, you know that, don’t you? For both of you.”

Eve nods sadly, and Bill shrugs one shoulder.

“Certainly for you, anyway. You can do far better than that stroppy, insensitive jackarse.”

Eve can’t help but laugh a little at Bill’s attempt at an American insult, and he smiles widely at her.

“Finish your coffee and we’ll go get something a little stronger, and we’ll work out what you’re going to do next.” He says, picking up his own mug. “And give me that croissant, I’m starving,”

——

The pub they end up at is close to Bill’s home, a familiar haunt of the pair, and they find a table near the bar to drink their wine at.

“Have you got a lawyer yet?” Bill asks after a few minutes of companionable silence, broken only by the people around them chatting and the clink of glassware.

“No.” Eve says glumly. “I tried looking one up this morning but there are… so many.”

“Hmm,” Bill hums in agreement around his wine glass, “But only a few very good ones. How on earth are you going to afford this?”

Eve scowls at him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be making me feel better? I thought you wanted to help.”

“I never said anything about making you feel better.” Bill says with raised eyebrows. “And I’m just asking the questions that need answers.”

Eve rubs her hands over her face, pushing the heels of her palms into her eyes until she sees stars behind her eyelids.

“I’ll have to dip into my inheritance.”

“Oh no, no don’t do that Eve.” Bill says with a frown. “You’re saving that, your dad wanted you to use it for something important.”

“This  _ is _ important, Bill.” Eve stresses before swallowing more wine. “Besides, dad never liked Niko anyway. I’m sure he’d be delighted knowing I’m using my inheritance to get a divorce.”

Bill continues to stare at her in concern, but Eve waves it off.

“I don’t have a choice.” She says a little helplessly. “I want this done right, I’ve been reading up on all the money splitting nonsense and I just… I want a good solicitor. I want this to go smoothly.”

“Okay,” Bill says with a shake of his head, “okay. It’s your call.”

“It is.” Eve says with some finality. “So… what now?”

Bill takes a slow sip of wine while Eve watches.

“Now,” he says, clapping his hands together once, “now, we find that solicitor.”

——

Eve wakes up the next morning with only the slightest hangover, and she mentally praises Bill’s insistence that she drink water throughout the evening.

She looks around herself, confusion at her surroundings quickly dissolving into a mix of sadness and comforting familiarity as she remembers she’s in Bill’s guest room. After the pub, they’d gone home to eat dinner with Bill’s wife Keiko, and Eve had managed to laugh properly for the first time in weeks.

This morning though, she finds no laughter. Reality settles back onto her chest like a weight, wrapping around her rib cage, squeezing. 

Yesterday, Bill had helped her make an appointment with a solicitor for this afternoon, a short notice sort of scheduling that the somewhat rude receptionist on the phone huffed at but Eve insisted on. She sent all of the relevant information and promised it would only take fifteen minutes, she just had to meet the solicitor and see how she felt about them, to work out if she felt like entrusting this monumental change in her life to this specific stranger. 

Her thoughts are cut off by the high pitched giggle of a baby, followed by the gruff tones of Bill putting on what Eve hopes is a baby voice as he speaks to his daughter. Eve stretches and gets out of bed, then attempts to tame her hair into something presentable before shoving the curls up into a bun to deal with later. She takes a deep breath and heads out of the room to join Bill and the baby.

Might as well start off this day with some childlike innocence.

Hours are spent playing with the one year old and talking to Bill until finally she heads out to meet with the solicitor.

Keiko had insisted Eve borrow something of hers to wear, and Eve didn’t argue. She’d turned up in jeans and a loose t-shirt, and literally anything would be better than her casual get up when facing a solicitor that gets paid more per month than Eve does in half a year.

She sways on the tube in cropped black trousers, tailored and neat, and for the thousandth time thanks whoever might be listening that she and Keiko are the same size. The sleeveless white and black striped blouse she wears is tucked neatly into the waist of the trousers, and she’d somehow managed to style her curls into less of a cloud than she’d woken up with.

The office building is swanky as shit, Eve thinks, as she stands looking up at the wall length glass windows stretching up into the clouds of central london. The ground floor is a reception area for all of the businesses operating within the building, like most of the tall buildings in this area of London, and Eve approaches the front desk quickly and quietly.

“Hi,” she starts, smiling at the lady behind the desk, “I have an appointment.”

——

The first problem comes when Eve realises the office she needs is on the 25th floor, and the elevator is made of glass. 

She doesn’t like heights. 

But she pictures Niko’s angry expression and stinging words, and steps shakily into the elevator. 

When she finally wobbles out of it, Eve is made very aware of how fucking high up she is. The entire left wall from the elevator and well into the office floor is glass, and Eve is not comfortable with just how many rooftops she can see.

“Holy shit.” She murmurs, blinking rapidly and looking away from the windows, straight into the eyes of an amused looking man sat behind a desk.

“Not good with heights?” He asks with a smirk.

Eve grimaces a little as she tries to walk towards him without thinking of how many feet there are between herself and the pavement outside. She focuses on his messy yet clearly styled hair, and his lilac shirt with the buttons open halfway down his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Eve apologises, “It’s just… this is  _ very _ high up.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” He says sarcastically, eyebrows raised as he turns to look at his screen. “Eve Polastri? Divorce?” The last word he drags out, smirk forming on his lips. 

Eve takes a moment to wonder how a kid as snarky as this managed to land a job as receptionist to one of the most successful family solicitors in London. She smiles, but doesn’t let it reach her eyes.

“Yes.” She says with transparent faux pleasantness. “And you must be the delightful gentleman I spoke to on the phone.”

The man glares at her a little, picking up immediately on her tone, but clearly he knows where the line is because he doesn’t push further.

“Yes, that would be me. I’m Hugo, and once you begin your case I’ll be handling the money and paperwork details for you.”

Eve lifts one eyebrow as she studies Hugo.

“How do you know I’ll let this solicitor handle my case?”

Hugo scoffs and shakes his head lightly, his messy hair staying perfectly in place.

“Because no one has  _ ever _ turned down her help.” He says simply. “Now if you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’ll let her know you’re here.”

Eve nods with another purposefully sarcastic smile, but she’s a little nervous now. This woman must be the real deal, and if what Hugo says is true, then Eve definitely wants her fighting her corner. She runs her hands down her trousers, brushing out invisible creases. 

Hugo presses a button on a small box on his desk while Eve subtly faffs with her outfit, but she looks up when she hears the distracted hum of acknowledgement crackle through a speaker in front of Hugo.

“Mrs Polastri is here to see you.” He says, finger holding down the button.

“Alright. Were you nice to this one?”

Hugo frowns and rolls his eyes a little before they land on Eve. He smirks at her.

“Of course.”

A sigh filters out from the speaker.

“No you weren’t.” 

Hugo’s smirk turns into a grimace, and he keeps his mouth shut.

“Send her in please, Hugo. And go get me a coffee before I consider sending you on yet another customer service course.”

“Oh Jesus, those things are awful.” He mutters as the crackling cuts off and he stands from his seat. “Listen, sorry about the sass, if you could maybe, like, tell her I was nice? I really don’t want to go to another HR class again.”

Eve smiles sweetly at him.

“Bring me a latte and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Hugo purses his lips.

“Fine.” He says in a low voice before grabbing his wallet and dashing off.

Eve loses her bravado as she turns to stare at the office floor properly. There are a few large meeting rooms bordered by glass walls on all sides, but running along the right wall are offices with smooth white walls that you can’t see into without entering them. She walks to the closest and peers at the small gold plaque to the left of the door. 

‘Ms V. Astankova’ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fake-surprised-woman.gif
> 
> Head to my Twitter fixyfics for various tidbits!


	3. Vertigo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Business barbie is here, and she knows her stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to my lawyer best mate for essentially writing a full ‘solicitor’ script for me to then characterise. This chapter is a lot of technical jargon folks, but it needs to be done!

Eve runs her fingers through the ends of her curls a couple of times and takes a deep breath. 

Time to get things moving. 

She knocks. 

“Come in.”

The first thing Eve is struck by when she enters the room is the light. The back wall is all glass, giving more views of city rooftops, while the other walls are white and clean. There’s a bookshelf to the left, full of thick books and the occasional potted plant and picture frame, and on the right are neat wooden cabinets. 

The desk in the centre of the room matches the golden wood of the shelves and drawers, and two plush looking chairs sit facing it. Behind the desk is an office chair, its back to the glass wall, and currently home to a blonde woman rummaging in a desk drawer. 

Eve closes the door behind her quietly and takes one step into the room. 

“Make yourself comfortable,” the blonde says, not looking up, “I will be with you in a moment.”

Eve walks across the room, footsteps muffled on the large black and white rug covering the wooden floorboards, then takes a seat in one of the comfortable chairs and waits. 

“Aha!” 

Eve almost gasps at the sound. 

And when the blonde straightens, her face revealed for the first time, Eve almost gasps again. 

The solicitor is…  _ gorgeous _ . There’s really no other word for it. Wide set hazel eyes framed by thick lashes, smooth pale skin, honeyed blonde hair twisted into a loose yet professional looking chignon at the base of her neck. 

Eve watches as dark painted lips stretch into a somewhat surprised smile. 

“Oh, hello. Mrs Polastri?” 

For fuck’s sake, of course she has an accent. She rolls the r smoothly and there’s a soft huskiness to her tone.

Eve just about stops herself from walking straight out, because honestly, faced with having to go through a divorce while staring at a woman that looks like  _ this _ sounds painful. And there is no question about it, Eve will be staring at her, because… well, anyone would. 

But she’d promised Bill she’d see this through, try to get things started, so she stays in the soft chair, staring at the blonde whose eyes flick up and down Eve quickly, curiously. 

Eve starts to think it’s almost an appreciative look until she remembers that she’s just been asked a question. 

“Oh, uh, yes. Hello, Ms Astankova?”

The woman smiles again and nods, then starts organising the forms and blank notebook from the drawer. She takes a pen from the pot on her desk and clicks the end before focusing fully on Eve.

“So,” she starts, and Eve fidgets under the suddenly serious gaze, “first, to use my time as productively as possible and to give you the best value for money, you must be completely honest with me throughout this process. I need total transparency from you if we want this to go smoothly, alright?”

Eve knows she has no right to feel chastised, but she has to will herself not to shrink into the chair regardless. 

“Okay, will do.”

“Great.” And then the woman smiles slightly, a gentle quirk of her lips. “So, Mrs Polastri, you are here because?” 

Eve straightens her shoulders. 

“As I said on the phone to your receptionist, I’m looking to file for divorce from my husband.”

The blonde nods once. 

“And you want to enlist a solicitor’s help instead of just filing it yourself?”

“Yes,” Eve nods, “I want it done right, Ms Astankova. I don’t want anything coming back to bite me.”

“Wise choice.” Eve can only smile and nod again before the blonde continues. “So I have all of the information you forwarded this morning. I have your full names, dates of birth, employment details and earnings, property assets, debts and mortgages information, savings, and so on.” The solicitor looks up from the printed notes before her. “But I noticed there are a few details on your husband’s side that are missing.”

Eve clears her throat, a little embarrassed. 

“Yes, uh, sorry,” she starts, looking down at her fingers for a moment, “we are not talking at the moment so I couldn’t get some of the information.”

Ms Astankova hums and watches Eve carefully. 

“Does he want this divorce?”

“Yes.” Eve assures quickly. “I mean, I’m pretty sure he does. He agreed when I said we should get one, anyway.”

“Okay.” The blonde nods, looks at the papers, then looks at Eve again. “Now,  _ why _ do  _ you _ want a divorce?”

Eve has readied herself for this question, has gone over it again and again with Bill, but it still hits her like a punch to the stomach. She swallows hard and wills herself not to lose any composure. 

“At the start, Niko was a very good man. He loved me a lot and I loved him, but I loved my job too. He struggled with me loving something else. Always wanted it to be just him. Over the years he got more and more sour, and in doing so I spent more time at work. More time on the thing I loved that  _ didn’t _ yell at me, you know?”

Ms Astankova just nods patiently, so Eve continues. 

“He got… he got mean. Resentful. Throwaway comments and the occasional argument about me staying late at work morphed into this… this mess of anger, not just about my work but about everything about me. He’d insult me, ridicule me. I tried so hard to make him happy but it was like he  _ wanted _ to drive me away just so he had another excuse to be furious at me. He doesn’t love me anymore, I can tell. He blames me for how he is now. Says he deserves better. I just can’t… I can’t, anymore. I don’t know why I didn’t do this sooner, I guess I was just scared of the change. But, yeah. That’s why I want a divorce.”

Eve watches as Ms Astankova purses her lips lightly, still studying Eve carefully after she stops talking. Eve is about to say something to break the weird silence, but then the woman is looking back down at her notes and speaking again. 

“Normally this is the part where I advise my clients to go to marriage counselling, to see if they can work through the problems, but it sounds like you are set on this, and rightly so.”

Eve is a little taken aback by the last comment, and even the blonde coughs once, quickly, before hurrying on. 

“By which I mean it appears your marriage has irreconcilable differences, of course. So we can just skip that part.” Ms Astankova pauses for a few seconds to sip some water from one of the glasses on her desk. “Mrs Polastri, can you tell me of any wrongdoings on your part that he could use against you?”

“What?” Eve blinks, slightly alarmed. “But he agreed to the divorce, so surely this’ll be an amicable thing?”

“Yes, right now it is amicable, but things can change. Divorces can be stressful. Experience has taught me that it’s good to know any and all details just in case something goes south.”

Eve runs a hand through her hair nervously as she thinks. 

“Um, I… sorry, what do you mean by wrongdoings, exactly? I mean, I’ve probably called him an ass at least fifty times, and I’ve occasionally stayed at work on purpose to avoid seeing him when I knew he was in a bad mood, but...”

The blonde tilts her head from side to side. 

“Okay. Well, can he accuse you of something big? Like cheating?”

“No,” Eve says immediately, adamantly, “no, I’d never.”

“That is good. Do you have children?”

Eve blanches at the thought. 

“No.”

“Any other dependants?”

“No dependants.”

The solicitor is making a quick note as the buzzer goes on a small box on her desk. She doesn’t look away from her notebook as she presses it. 

“Yes?”

“I have your coffees, Ms Astankova.”

“Bring them in.”

Two seconds later the door opens, and Eve looks over her shoulder at the young man entering with two cups in hand. She turns around and catches Ms Astankova peering at Hugo, frowning. 

“Why two cups, Hugo?”

“Oh, I got a latte for Mrs Polastri.”

Her suspicious gaze darts to Eve. 

“Did you ask him to bring you a coffee?”

Hugo appears in her line of sight then, a slightly desperate look on his face as he stares at Eve. 

She decides to go easy on him. 

“No, I didn’t ask.” Eve says, feigning surprise. “How thoughtful. Thank you.”

She tries not to smirk at the relieved expression that flashes over his face as he hands them both their steaming coffees. 

“Thank you Hugo, I’ll let you know when I need you.”

He nods at the blonde, then nods at Eve with another grateful smile before hurriedly leaving. Ms Astankova sips her coffee and hums happily, then stares over at Eve again. 

“Okay.” She says as she puts her cup down. “Can you give me a quick insight into your life right now? How you live, how much you spend, what you do with your money, how you contribute to your joint life financially, etcetera?”

Eve runs through the details as the solicitor listens, only stopping to ask the occasional clipped question and make a brief note before getting right back to taking in everything Eve tells her. 

She realises that Ms Astankova is acting as if she’s already been hired, and Eve wonders if this is part of what Hugo mentioned earlier. The confidence and professionalism that this woman exudes must secure most clients pretty much immediately. 

Eve finds she’s okay with it, and she’s not even heard the pricing yet. 

“Right.” The woman says as she closes her notebook. “So, the good news is amicable divorces can usually be wrapped up in three to six months.”

Eve sighs in relief, and Ms Astankova smiles a little. 

“I will need that missing information regarding your husband as soon as possible before I can confirm how long it will take, but I am fairly sure based on what I’ve heard so far that it should take closer to three than six.”

“God, thank you so much.” Eve says gratefully, slumping back in her chair a little. 

“Just doing my job.” The solicitor says with a little shrug. “Do you have any questions for me?”

“Yeah,” and Eve grimaces a little now at what she’s about to ask, “how much is this gonna cost me?”

The woman doesn’t even flinch at the question, simply looks upwards in practiced thought. 

“Well, the actual divorce procedure occurs by the court granting you your final divorce. It’s a thing called Decree Absolute, and usually that will happen rather quickly unless there are intricate financial matters to resolve. The court fees are around £550, and then there’s my fee, which is £280 per hour.”

Eve can’t help her reaction. 

“Per  _ hour _ ?” She asks loudly, mouth dropping open, but Ms Astankova simply nods. 

“I am very good at what I do, Mrs Polastri.” She says with a confident smirk. “And I tend to work fast, too, so have to adjust my fees accordingly.” 

“Okay,” Eve says with a disbelieving shake of her head. She sighs and runs a hand through her hair again. “Okay. So how many hours do you think this will take?”

“Well, if it stays amicable, a consensual divorce, then we’ll only be seeing each other for six to eight hours.”

“And what if Niko decides to not consent.”

The blonde frowns. 

“Why would he do that?” She asks, reaching to open her notebook again. 

“Because he’s an asshole.” Eve huffs, before remembering where she is and that she should probably be a little more professional, but when she looks at the other woman she notices the blonde attempting to hide a smile behind her pen. “I mean, he likes when I’m unhappy. I wouldn’t put it past him to make this whole thing more difficult, just to give himself another opportunity to blame me for something going wrong, seeing as I suggested the divorce in the first place.”

“Alright.” Ms Astankova says, and Eve notes her eyes are a little narrowed as she makes a quick note. “Well, if he were to do something like… that, then my fee would end up increasing due to increased time spent working on your case. But the court fees and disbursements should cost you around £550.”

“What are disbursements?”

“Any other fees I might incur while working on this for you. So, based on eight hours of my time, plus court fees, plus disbursements, you’re looking at around £3000.”

“I…” Eve trails off, a little stunned. “Okay. How much does a divorce cost? Like… fully?”

“On average in the UK? Around 15k, including moving house, new furniture, new car, all of that. Usually more in London due to the higher cost of living. 

Eve feels lost. She feels the hundreds of feet between herself and the ground like a gravitational pull. 

“So… what do I do now?”

Ms Astankova leans forward on her desk and clasps her hands together, appraising Eve and tilting her head. 

“Do you still live in the same house? Neither of you have left?”

“No. What about our money?”

“Ideally, you dissolve any joint accounts and separate your income from his, so that no party can spend the other party’s money. We need it to be a clean split from here on out.”

Eve knows she’s asking silly questions now, but she really has no fucking idea what to do all of a sudden, and the blonde seems to have softened a little in her professional demeanour. She seems willing to help. 

“What do we do about bills?”

“If you are both staying in the same house, you should both continue to pay for the council tax and the bills as usual. No changes necessary there.”

Eve can’t help it; she tilts her head back against the chair and stares, unseeing, at the ceiling. She lets out a long breath. 

“This is a lot. Like… a  _ lot _ .”

She hears a soft sigh and the gentle creak of a chair, and when Eve glances back down she sees Ms Astankova’s posture has relaxed considerably as she leans back in her chair. 

“I know it can seem daunting, but I am here to help you, Mrs Polastri.”

“God, can you… can you just call me Eve? Is that okay? After today I just… don’t want his name to be attached to me when we talk.”

“Eve.” The woman says quietly with a small smile. “Of course. Well, Eve, all I need from you now is the rest of those missing details. You can email them to Hugo. How would you like us to contact you from now on?”

“Phone, please.” Eve says ruffling her hair tiredly. “I’m useless with emails.”

“Good to know.” 

Ms Astankova quirks her lips a little, a lopsided smile forming as she watches Eve comb through her hair with her fingers. She stares for a bit, and Eve starts to get concerned that she’s frizzed her hair up or something. 

“Are you okay?”

The blonde blinks, then sits up straight. 

“My apologies, I was just thinking if there was anything else I needed to tell you.” She says calmly, looking away from Eve. She stands and rounds her desk as Eve rises to her feet. 

“We will be in touch as soon as you forward those details.” She says with a smile and an outstretched hand. Eve takes it. 

The woman’s skin is ridiculously soft, her fingers long and delicate. She’s warm against her palm. 

Eve shakes it quickly then let’s go and takes a step back. 

“Thank you, Ms Astankova.”

“Not a problem, Eve.” The blonde says with a smile. “I will speak to you soon.”

And then she’s opening the door for Eve who steps out, not moving until she hears the door click behind her. 

“You saved my arse.” Hugo’s voice floats to her from the desk a few metres away. “I owe you.”

Eve glances at the man, leaning towards her in his desk chair. She shrugs. 

“Make sure there’s a coffee waiting for me each time I’m scheduled to be here and I’ll keep singing your praises, kid.”

And then Eve leaves. 

She stares through the glass bottom of the elevator as it takes her down, and allows the miserable feeling of vertigo to settle heavily in her stomach.


	4. Small roadblock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ummm there’s a part in this that I’m not sorry about but also am sorry about

Eve’s breakfast of toast, eaten on her lap while she sits in her office, is disturbed by her phone ringing. 

It’s an unknown number. Usually Eve answers them immediately, what with the nature of her journalism job and all, but this time she watches it ring for a moment, unsure why. 

When she finally does answer it with a brief ‘Eve speaking’, it’s a familiar voice on the other end. 

“Mrs Polastri? It’s Hugo from Vasiliev & Astankova.”

“Oh, Hugo, hi.” She says around her mouth of toast, trying to swallow it and wincing at the dry crumbs. She takes a gulp of too-hot coffee to rinse it down and gasps before speaking. “What can I do for you? Did Ms Astankova get my email?”

“Yes, she did. She wants to talk to you now, if you’re not busy?”

Eve frowns down into her coffee. 

“Uh, okay, yes, I’m free?”

“Rad, I’ll put you through.”

There’s a soft click and a silence just long enough for Eve to think about Hugo’s almost frustratingly casual ‘rad’ while on a professional phone call, when another click sounds. 

“Hello Eve.”

That Russian accent filters through her phone’s speaker, and Eve finds herself straightening up, sorting out her posture as if the solicitor was in the room. 

“Ms Astankova, hi. You got my email?” 

“I did, yes, that is why I am calling you.” Villanelle sounds busy; there’s a rustling of paper in the background and footsteps, as if Villanelle is walking to her drawers and back. 

“Oh, was there a problem?”

“Not exactly, but I’m going to need you to come in to discuss a few developments. Can you make it in for around noon tomorrow?”

Eve feels worry start to crawl its way up through her chest. She puts her coffee on the bedside table. 

“Yeah, sure, I… should I be worried?”

“We will talk about it when I see you. Have a good day, Eve.”

The line cuts out and Eve is left staring at a blackened screen. 

——

Her boss is fine with her ducking out early. 

Eve explained what was happening, the divorce and the solicitor and the spare room, and Carolyn had been surprisingly understanding. 

“I’ve been through enough divorces to know they’re a bit of a pickle.” She’d said as Eve sat across the desk of the editor. “Take all the time you need. Just make sure to get your articles done on time. And Eve?”

Eve raised her eyebrows, and Carolyn gave a rare smile. 

“Well done. Niko always was a dull fool.”

And then she’d turned back to the mountain of folders on her desk, dismissing Eve without a word. 

Now, in the stupid elevator, Eve refuses to look down. Or to the left. Or the right. In fact, she keeps her eyes closed to avoid looking in literally any direction out of the glass sides. She hears the ping that indicates the doors opening and lets one eye open to confirm the floor number. 

She sighs in relief when she sees it’s her stop and that no one will be stepping in with her to judge her tightly clenched shut eyes. 

She leaves the lift in a rush and heads straight for Hugo’s desk. There’s a mug full of steaming coffee sat near the corner of it, and Eve eyes it briefly before looking at Hugo in question. The young man is already staring at her. 

“Yes, it’s yours.” He says with an eye roll, and she grins as she scoops it up from the desk. “You’ll need it.”

Eve’s grin drops immediately. 

“What do you mean?”

Hugo just shrugs and smirks that dumb smirk as he turns back to his computer. Eve feels a panicky anger flare in her chest. 

“Hugo, you tell me what you mean right now or so help me-”

“Mrs Polastri?”

Eve turns sharply to see Ms Astankova leaning out of her office and staring right at her. 

“Oh, hi, hello.” Eve says, pointedly ignoring the stare from Hugo she can feel burning the side of her face. 

“Come in, we have something important to talk about.”

Eve follows her into the office and passes the blonde, who closes the door behind them before heading round the desk and sitting in her chair. She opens up her laptop as Eve sits across for her, nervously fidgeting. 

“First of all, thank you for sending over the missing information.” 

Eve nods, and the other woman continues. 

“I read through it yesterday and unfortunately, we have hit a small roadblock.”

“Um, what?” 

Villanelle sighs and leans back in her chair, studying Eve over the desk and swinging her seat round slightly, side to side. 

“You signed a prenup. You did not tell me you had signed a prenup.”

“Oh,” Eve blinks, surprised, as she cards through the past seventeen years of her relationship, “Uh... yeah, I did. I’d forgotten about that.”

The blonde hums and continues to stare at Eve before suddenly sitting upright. 

“You know what a prenuptial agreement is, of course.”

“Yeah,” Eve nods slowly, unsure why the solicitor seems so focused on this development, “a written agreement setting out ownership of all belongings, including money and assets. Why?”

The other woman clicks something on her laptop and stares at the screen for a moment, before flicking her gaze back to Eve. 

“In your prenup, you and Niko stated that in the event of you two getting a divorce, all of your assets would become matrimonial assets. You specifically included assets you purchased together, but excluded inheritances from both parties and, on Niko’s side, the revenue of his small business, Bridge Publishings.”

“Okay...” Eve says slowly, frowning, “I’m not very good with technical jargon but that sounds… Am I missing something?”

Ms Astankova purses her lips thoughtfully.

“Eve, your husband’s business has grown, as you know. It now makes a lot more than it did thirteen years ago when this prenup was signed.”

“But I make money too.” Eve is starting to worry now. “My earnings have gone up.”

“Yes,” Ms Astankova says calmly, “But when you signed the prenup, you agreed that your earnings would become matrimonial assets. And Niko’s company pays him a wage, of course, which is included in the matrimonial assets as well. But in essence, he keeps his wage low enough to not matter. The real wealth is the actual company, its dividends, its capital, and that’s been explicitly excluded from your prenuptials.”

Eve stares at her, realisation creeping coldly through her limbs.

  
That _bastard_.

“Your prenup is legally sound. There is nothing that can be done unless one of you is guilty of wrongdoings.”

“Wrongdoings?” Eve asks hopefully. “Like what?”

“It’s murky, of course, because you would need conclusive evidence, but there’s a short clause in your prenup that stipulates that if one party cheats, they will pay the other party a lump sum of £250,000. I am not sure where that number comes from but I assume you probably agreed on it as it was an inconceivable idea at the time. There are also a few other reasons listed but none of them seem to apply to your situation, so…”

Eve digs her nails into the arm of the chair while gesturing with the other, waving it through the air nervously. 

“But Niko hasn’t done that. At least… not that I’m aware of. And… no, no he wouldn’t. I know he hates me but he wouldn’t…”

Shw trails off, suddenly unsure of what she’s saying, something twisting painfully in her chest. 

“Okay. Well in that case, I am sorry Eve. There is not a lot we can do but go through the standard divorce procedure.”

Eve wonders if the blonde would mind if she just… stayed here. Sat in this office for the rest of her life, because she’s pretty sure she can’t get up from her chair. She covers her face with her hands. 

“This isn’t happening.” Eve mumbles into her palms. 

“Hey, Eve,” the other woman’s voice reaches her through the darkness behind her fingers, “the main thing to remember here is that at the end of this, you will be free of him. You will be free to live your life exactly as you want, without a bully breathing over your shoulder. That is worth the hassle, right?”

And Eve wants to believe her, wants to sit up and cheer and high five the smart woman across from her, but her blood feels leaden and her heart is sinking under the weight of it. 

“I… I don’t know.”

There’s silence and then the shuffling of some paper, and Eve drops her hands wearily to see the blonde putting things away. 

“You should go home and think on things.” The woman says as she slides her desk drawer closed. “This has been a bit of a shock for you, and I think it would be best if you went away and relaxed. Decide on your next move.”

The blonde stands up and picks up a sleek briefcase from behind her desk, then starts putting her laptop into it. 

“I have to go to a meeting.” She tells Eve, who stands too. “But let me know as soon as you know what you want, okay? Just give Hugo a call and we will sort something out.”

“Um, okay.” Eve says, almost dazed in her shock. She feels like her brain is too full, information and emotions battling it out and leaving no room for simple things like how to walk and talk. She glances around herself and realises the blonde is holding the door open for her. 

“Thanks,” Eve says quietly as she steps through the door. She watches as the blonde locks it behind them, then her eyes land on the gold plaque on the wall. “I know I have way more to be focusing on right now, but… what does the V stand for?”

The woman turns to stare at Eve, looking amused at Eve’s question amidst the serious atmosphere. 

“Villanelle.”

“Villanelle?” Eve repeats, frowning a little. “I’ve never heard that name before.” She looks the blonde up and down. “It suits you.”

Villanelle laughs a little and leans back against the door. 

“Thank you. You can call me that, if you’d like. But only when it’s just us - professionalism is important.” Villanelle’s humoured smile turns into concern. “Are you okay, Eve? You have gone a little… strange.”

“I’m fine.” Eve sighs. “Just, you know… facing the biggest, most expensive and most upsetting change of my life so far. My brain tends to shut down a little when I get this overwhelmed.”

“Oh.” Villanelle says, looking worried. “Do you, um… need help? I can have Hugo call you a taxi?”

“No, no, I’m okay.” Eve says with a distracted wave of her hand. “I’m just gonna go drink wine and cry.”

“Okay.” Villanelle says with a chuckle, brow still crinkled with concern. “Well, don’t forget to get in touch once you have finished… drinking and crying.”

Eve just hums in response, mind going a mile a minute, too fast for her to keep forming normal responses. Villanelle stops by Hugo’s desk, slapping his phone out of his hand even as she continues to stare at Eve. 

“Look after yourself, Eve.” She says. “We will sort this out. I promise.”

Eve doesn’t really know what to say, because how does she know? How does Villanelle know that things will be okay? Because at the sounds of things right now, it absolutely will not be okay, Eve is going to lose everything normal in her life. Nothing sounds like it’s going to be fucking _okay_. 

Eve doesn’t really know what to say, so she throws half hearted and very embarrassing finger guns at Villanelle instead, then promptly turns on her heels and leaves, stepping into the glass elevator from hell and hoping that the bottom of it will fall out and drop her to the ground in a glittering red paste. 

The doors are sliding closed, and she gets one last glimpse of Villanelle’s part concerned, part amused face before they click shut. 

——

Eve goes home. 

She doesn’t want to go home, but she’s already sat in the pub on her own for two hours, nursing three glasses of wine and eating nachos, so she thinks she should probably head back before he blows his lid at her being late home, even though they’re technically now going through a divorce. 

A divorce. 

Fuck. 

Eve never thought this would happen. 

From the moment she met Niko at a mutual friend’s Christmas party, she’d thought that that was it. The second she saw him across the room, she felt like she just _knew_. 

He’d then glanced across the room too and caught her eye, and they’d moved towards each other through the crowd of people chatting and dancing until they faced each other, smiling sheepishly. 

“I like your antlers.” He’d said in his soft accent, a new sound to Eve, while pointing at her sparkly red headband complete with felt reindeer antlers. 

“Thanks.” She smiled. “I like your tie.”

He’d looked down at his light up tie and touched the red LED nose of Rudolph near the bottom. When he glanced back up at Eve, he was grinning, and so was she. 

They were married four years later. 

Everything about him seemed magical. Until it didn’t. 

But she doesn’t want to dwell on that again, on the souring of their relationship, on how he had changed, on how _she_ had changed. 

What happened to the magic? Can that sort of love just… dissolve? Disappear? 

  
No. It must still be there somewhere, like an ember under ashes. Maybe it just needs a little oxygen. 

So she goes home. 

When she walks through the door, Niko is sat on the sofa, book in his hands. 

Eve makes a decision. 

She walks into the living room and takes the book, flinging it to the side. Niko glares up at her, and Eve almost laughs when she realises this is the most he’s paid attention to her in four days. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, annoyed, immediately ready to fight, but she doesn’t answer. Instead, she lowers herself onto his lap, straddling his thighs. 

“I don’t know, Niko. What _are_ we doing?” 

She rocks once, twice, in the way she knows he likes it, and he grabs her hips on instinct. 

Niko is still frowning a little, and so is Eve, but she rocks again. 

Maybe this is the oxygen their ember needs. 

——

It’s the first time they’ve had sex in over a year. A _year_. 

It’s not exactly anything to write home about. 

But there is something extra there, something fuelled by the anger, maybe, something that hadn’t been there before. 

After, now in bed, when they’re lying side by side, Eve turns her head to look at Niko. 

He looks the same as he always has, as when they first met, just with a few grey hairs and wrinkles thrown in. The man she fell in love with is in there somewhere. 

“Niko?”

He hums in acknowledgment, his eyes still closed. Eve rolls onto her side and pauses before speaking again. She rests her hand gently on his forearm, strokes the hairs there softly. 

“What now?”

Niko opens his eyes and turns his head to look at her. It’s the first time in a long time that he doesn’t look angry. Can it be that all they needed was this oxygen? 

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” she says quietly, “what now? After… after this. What do we do now?”

Niko frowns in confusion. 

“Eat dinner?”

Jesus Christ. Eve just about stops herself from digging her nails into his arm. 

“No, Niko, I mean what do we do about _us_ now?” Eve says, and she props herself up on one elbow. “About the… the divorce? We just had sex. Are we… did it change anything for you?”

And Niko scoffs. 

“It was just sex.” He says with a low chuckle. “And _you’re_ the one who wanted the divorce, _you’re_ the one ending this. So, that’s what we’re doing next. We’re getting divorced. But thanks, for this.”

And Eve…

Eve has never felt so humiliated. 

She gets up, pulls her clothes on, grabs some other bits and shoves them into a bag, all while Niko lies back on the bed, relaxed and unphased. 

She holds in her tears until she’s out the door, shoes hitting the tarmac as she walks away. 

Once she reaches the bus stop, she grabs her phone from her bag. 

Eve: Can I stay for a while?

The immediate three bouncing dots help ease the pain constricting her chest. 

_Bill: Come on over. You’re always welcome here._

——

Eve’s fingers drum against her thigh as she dials, only stilling when the call is picked up on the other end. 

“Good morning, you’ve reached the firm of Vasiliev & Astankova. This is Hugo speaking, how may I help you today?”

“Hi Hugo, it’s Eve Polastri.”

“Oh, goodie.” Hugo drawls, the politeness immediately dropping from his tone, and Eve rolls her eyes. “And what can I do for you?”

“How do you even still have a job?” Eve asks, ignoring his question. 

Hugo scoffs on the other end, and Eve can practically hear his smirk through the line. 

“Middle aged divorcees enjoy my charm.” He says smugly before his voice turns conspiratorial. “And I’m really good at excel.”

“That’s it?” Eve deadpans. “You’re good with cell formulae?”

“Mostly.” Hugo says vaguely, but before Eve can press, he continues. “Why are you calling? Or did you just fancy a chat with yours truly.”

“Is Ms Astankova free?” She asks, ignoring his comment. 

He hums for a moment, and Eve can hear him clicking his mouse. “She is. May I ask why you’re calling?”

“No.” Eve says bluntly. 

“Okay, grumpy.” Hugo retorts. “But I do actually need you to tell me if you expect Ms Astankova to speak to you.”

“Fine. I need to speak with her about my divorce. I want to go ahead with it.”

“Righto. Just a moment.”

The line goes quiet, and Eve starts drumming her fingers again. 

Thirty seconds pass before a click sounds in her ear. 

“Hello, Eve.”

“Vill-Ms Astankova, hi.”

There’s a soft chuckle on the other end, and Eve finds her fingers relaxing. 

“You can call me Villanelle over the phone too, Eve.” She says. “Hugo says you are calling to confirm the divorce?”

“Uh, yes. I am. I want to do it.”

“Okay.” Villanelle says simply. “I… I realise it is not my place, Eve, and it’s not exactly professional, but I think you are making the right choice.”

Eve smiles a little and stares down at her lap. 

“Thank you.” Eve says quietly. “But it’s not just… just the divorce thing.”

“Oh?” Villanelle asks, intrigued. “Go on.”

“I know I signed the prenup, but I didn’t know he was going to… going to manipulate shit so that his business would keep most of his money without me knowing. So… so I‘m not giving up without a fight.” 

There’s silence on the other end, then a small sigh. 

“I have already said, Eve, if there is no evidence of wrongdoing, then-”

“I’m going to find it. I’m going to find a way to prove that Niko has done... something.”

“Okay... legally, as your solicitor, I can’t comment on that.” There’s a hint of interest in Villanelle’s tone, beneath a layer of seriousness, and it fuels Eve. 

“I don’t need you to.” Eve says confidently. “I just need you to know that I’m getting a divorce and I need you to represent me.”

It’s silent, and Eve finds herself wishing she could see Villanelle’s expression right now. 

“Well then. I look forward to working with you.”

The interest has won out in Villanelle’s voice, and Eve smiles victoriously. 

“So.” Eve continues. “When can we meet?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t worry! That will NOT happen again! It just had to for angry Eve reasons.


	5. Almost familiar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays to those that celebrate a holiday and happy December 24th to those that don’t!

“ _Three thousand pounds_? At a _minimum_?” 

They’re at the pub again, Eve and Bill, facing each other over the table and both nursing their beers. 

“Yeah, I know.” Eve grumbles into her pint glass. 

“I knew they were expensive,” Bill says with a shake of his head, “but I didn’t know they were that expensive. And that’s not even counting having to buy a new house. And furniture. And-”

“Yeah, Bill, I’m aware of the expenses ahead of me.” She snaps, but there’s no venom in it. “Sorry. I’m tired.”

“My spare bed not good enough for you?” Bill asks with raised eyebrows. 

Eve rolls her eyes. 

“You know it’s not that.”

“I do.” Bill says in a more comforting tone. Eve feels his stare on her as she looks around the room, sipping her beer. “But at least you have a good solicitor.”

“Thank god.” Eve sighs, dragging her gaze back to Bill. “Honestly, Bill, this woman is incredible. She’s all business and so professional, but also has a sort of laid back air to her?”

Bill nods as Eve puts her glass down, waving her hands about as though her words aren’t adequate. 

“I just know that she’s going to be able to help me big time, you know? I get this… I get this _feeling_ from her, like she gets it, like she gets not wanting to let the guy get away with shit.”

“A lawyer? Against injustice? How odd.” Bill says sarcastically, but Eve just waves his comment off. 

“But it’s not even that.” Eve stresses. “It’s like she’s fully on my side, even without the whole ‘I’m paying her’ situation. It’s like she’s heard my story and wants to help me. Does that make sense?”

Bill opens his mouth to answer but Eve cuts through his reply. 

“I don’t even need you to agree. It’s just a feeling. I’m just glad I’ve got her in my corner.”

“You seem to think quite highly of her already.” Bill chuckles. “Anything else you want to add? Wait, don’t tell me: she’s gorgeous as well as smart.”

“Okay, I know you’re making fun of me,” Eve holds a hand up and then points a finger at her friend, “but you honestly have no idea. This woman is stunning. Like… she is this beautiful, intelligent, successful woman and it’s… its admirable. A woman like that, so high in her field and not having lost a shred of femininity to get there.”

“Admirable, ey?” Bill says with a smirk and a quirked eyebrow. 

“Yes, admirable.” Eve frowns a little. “What are you saying?”

“Just that ‘admirable’ isn’t the word I’d use.”

Eve deadpans the man and drains the last of her beer. 

“Tease all you want, perve.” She says with a shrug. “You don’t get it. It’s a feel-”

“A feeling, yes Eve, you said.” He smirks wider, tucking his chin in a little. 

Eve huffs and fiddles with the empty pint glass in front of her. Bill just doesn’t understand. Eve feels she’s really found someone who is going to make this painful process easier, who will guide her through it and have her coming out stronger at the other end. 

But he’s still staring at her with that smirk and those raised eyebrows, and she sighs in frustration. 

“What?”

Bill laughs and shrugs. 

“Nothing.” He says with a smile, and Eve relaxes a little. 

It’s quiet for a moment, just the sounds of other people in the pub providing background sound, until Bill speaks again. 

“I just wish Keiko and I still had that ‘feeling’ when we see each other.”

Eve throws her damp coaster at him. 

——

The glass elevator made of nightmares continues to be just the worst, and Eve refuses to move closer to the walls when people actually walk into the space this time. They give her funny looks and huff very Englishly at her, but she stands her ground. 

The lift stops seven times, the last person filtering out allowing Eve the space to sigh shakily, but as the doors close a shiny black boot blocks them. 

Eve jumps at the sudden appearance of the boot, but doesn’t have time to process the mini shock before a leg appears, and then the rest of a body. 

“Well, hello Eve.”

“Hugo.” She nods, as calmly as she can. 

He stands in front of her, three takeaway cups on a cardboard tray in his hands, staring her down. 

“Are you going to move and let me in?”

Eve purses her lips and takes one step to the left, allowing Hugo space to squeeze in. The doors slide shut, and Eve feels his stare on her cheek. 

“Not a fan of the elevator, huh?” He says, smirk evident in his voice. 

He jumps a little as Eve suddenly rounds on him. 

“It’s is a glass cube flying up a billion floors.” She snaps at him. “It’s literally being pulled up by _wires_.”

“Okay,” Hugo drawls, taking a step back, “we are currently only seventeen floors up, so chill out.”

“Don’t tell me to chill out.” Eve mumbles, staring fixedly at the LED numbers above the door, feeling like her stomach is still on the ground floor. 

22, 23, 24…

The second it blinks to 25 and the doors slide open, Eve is half running to Hugo’s desk, ignoring his chuckle behind her. 

“You’re going to have to get used to it eventually, Eve.” Hugo says as he steps behind his desk. Eve takes the cup from his outstretched hand.

“Well, today is not that day.” She mutters into the plastic lid. 

Hugo has barely sat down before his buzzer goes. 

“Hugo? Is Eve here yet?”

Hugo takes a sip of his coffee before answering. 

“Not yet, Ms Astankova. She must be running late, how rude-”

Eve slaps at Hugo’s arm who recoils in shock, rubbing at his bicep with a pout as Eve presses the button. 

“I _am_ here.” Eve says with a scowl at Hugo, who simply rolls his eyes. 

“Deal’s off.” She whispers at him, smirking when his mouth drops open indignantly. 

“Oh, hello... okay. Please come on through. And Hugo?”

The man in question leans forward, already frowning in anticipation. 

“Yes, Ms Astankova?”

“Come and see me once I have finished with Eve.” 

The line cuts after that, and Hugo drops his forehead loudly to the desk. 

——

Sitting in the almost familiar plush chair, facing the almost familiar wooden desk in front of the almost familiar giant glass windows, Eve waits for Villanelle to finish flicking through a file tucked neatly in a wooden filing cabinet. 

“Okay.” Villanelle says before closing the cabinet and sitting back down behind her desk. “Okay. So, you are going through with the divorce with me as your solicitor.”

“Yes.” Eve nods. 

“What made you decide?” 

“I had sex with Niko.”

Villanelle looks speechless, which Eve supposes is a normal reaction to your client, a near-stranger, bluntly revealing her sexual activity. 

“Um. Okay?”

“Yeah. I wanted to see if we were definitely not going to reconcile. We had sex. It didn’t work, he’s still an ass.”

Eve catches the grimace on Villanelle’s face before the blonde can hide it. Maybe that kind of talk makes Villanelle uncomfortable. 

“Right, well, whatever helps you come to a decision is good. I guess. Anyway,” Villanelle clears her throat and clicks the end of her pen a few times, “we need to talk about what you said on the phone.”

“About me proving he’s-”

“Uh uh!” Villanelle suddenly interjects, holding a hand up in a ‘stop’ motion. “We cannot _talk_ talk about this.” 

Eve frowns, confused. 

“Okay?”

Villanelle sighs and drops the pen before giving Eve a focussed look. 

“Listen. I like you, Eve. I like your spirit, you have a passion in you that I enjoy. You’re funny. So I am going to help you. But to do so, you have to work with me. Do you know what I am saying?”

“Yes.” Eve nods confidently, but Villanelle’s hazel eyes don’t leave hers and she finds her nod morphing into a shake. “No.”

Villanelle bites her lips together in what looks like an effort not to smile. 

“Okay. An example: If you were to, say, ask me what kind of wrongdoings would make a prenup void, that is something you could do, and as your solicitor I could answer.”

Eve blinks a few times before it clicks. 

“Oh! Okay, um, Ms Astankova, what kind of wrongdoings would make a prenup void?”

Villanelle grins and grabs her pen again, pointing it at Eve. 

“Excellent question.” Villanelle praises. “Well, in your specific case, one of you would have to commit adultery. That seems to be the one thing you both agreed would break all other agreements.”

“Yes. Okay,” Eve nods slowly, “right, well, I haven’t cheated, and neither has he.”

“Hasn’t he?”

Eve stares at Villanelle who stares straight back, eyebrows raised. 

“Um, no, I’m pretty sure he hasn’t.”

“Pretty sure is not the same as certain.” Villanelle shrugs nonchalantly. “English may not be my first language, but last time I checked…”

Eve huffs out a sigh. 

“Okay, fine, I’m not 100% sure, but who is?”

“Not many people.” Villanelle nods in a sort of somber mockery, and Eve can’t help but scowl playfully in return. Villanelle stops nodding and narrows her eyes thoughtfully at Eve for a moment. “Where are you from?”

It’s a complete 180, and Eve is left dizzy. 

“I grew up in Connecticut. Why?”

Villanelle hums, her eyes taking Eve in. 

“What was that like?”

Okay, Villanelle is a little odd, which is… interesting. The woman is clearly very intelligent but Eve didn’t expect ‘odd’ to slot into the list of ways to describe the blonde. 

Eve finds she likes it. 

It makes Villanelle more… well, just more. 

“Uh, pretty nice. Green. Lots of time spent outside when I wasn’t studying.” Eve feels Villanelle’s interested gaze like a warmth on her skin. She clears her throat. “What about you? Where did you grow up?”

“Russia.” The blonde says, leaning back in her chair and twirling her pen around her fingers. 

“And how was that?” Eve asks politely. 

“ _Chilly_.” 

Villanelle says it with wide eyes and Eve can’t help but laugh. After the short burst of laughter subsides, she finds Villanelle smiling at her. 

“You have a good laugh, Eve.” She says calmly, fixing Eve yet again with that focussed look. “I hope that when your divorce is final, you will be able to laugh much more.”

It’s… it’s an intense thing to say, Eve thinks, especially to someone you’ve only met three times. But then Villanelle _is_ right, hopefully Eve _will_ be able to laugh more once this has all been sorted. Still, she didn’t know that was the kind of thing lawyers said to their clients. 

Not that she has any experience with lawyers to go off. 

Eve decides that it’s simply a nice thing to say, so she smiles. 

“Me too.” She agrees. 

Villanelle clicks her pen with finality, and Eve wonders if it’s a habit. 

“Okay, so, you now know how to _talk_ about certain things with me.” Villanelle says, completely back to business and leaving Eve unsteady on her feet once more. “There are things that we _may or may not_ talk about, in the effort to _maybe or maybe not_ help you get out of this marriage with something closer to what you deserve. But I am of course not implying anything.”

“No, of course you’re not.” Eve agrees with a certain nod. The corner of Villanelle’s lips quirk up a fraction. “We’re just… client and solicitor, discussing my divorce.”

“Exactly.” Villanelle’s eyes twinkle with mirth. “And I will absolutely not be implying that you could try to find some evidence to prove that Niko has taken part in wrongdoings.”

“Oh, we’re already going there?” Eve says, surprised at how fast their discussion reached this point.

Villanelle just smiles in response, then purses her lips in thought. 

“You know what? We should go get a drink.”

Eve has never known anyone to change the topic as quickly as Villanelle. 

She blinks.

“Huh?”

“A drink, Eve. You know? A post-work drink?”

“I know what a drink is, you dick.” Eve chuckles, before slapping a hand over her mouth. “Oh god, sorry, I didn’t-”

“Calling your solicitor a dick?” Villanelle’s eyebrows are raised all the way up, a grin spreading across her face. “You have guts, Eve. I was right about liking you.”

And god, the blush Eve feels starting to creep up her neck is so foreign it’s almost startling. Has it really been this long since anyone has paid her the slightest compliment?

“Well. You are one.” Eve says with a shrug, looking away to hide the pink of her cheeks. “Do solicitors often go out for post-work drinks with their clients?”

“No, that would be very unprofessional.” Villanelle shakes her head. “Good thing I’m asking you as a friend, instead.”

Eve feels… well, she feels sort of special. In the few times they’ve met, this woman, this smart and cool and gorgeous woman who probably has a tonne of high class friends, has decided she wants to befriend Eve? 

This doesn’t happen everyday. Or... ever. 

She feels that blush tickling her neck again, so she clears her throat. 

“A drink sounds good. Anywhere in mind?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major thanks to N for reading what I’ve written so far and calming me down in my ‘this isn’t very good and people don’t like it’ panic moments xo


	6. Say you will try

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s have a POV switch!

Villanelle does not take clients out for drinks. 

She does not take them to one of her favourite bars, to sit at one of her favourite tables, to drink one of her favourite cocktails while sharing a plate of her  _ absolute _ favourite topped nachos. 

And yet. 

“Fuck, these are so good.”

Eve says it around a mouth full of guac and cheese, a hand darting up to wipe a smudge of salsa off her lip with the pad of her thumb. 

Eve is not wrong; these nachos are the  _ best _ nachos, and Villanelle appreciates people with good taste. 

“I told you.” Villanelle says proudly. “They are perfect.”

Eve hums with a nod, chewing and swallowing her mouthful before reaching towards the plate again. 

She freezes in mid air. 

“Am I being greedy?” She asks seriously, staring at Villanelle, who only laughs and shakes her head in response. 

She watches Eve shove another handful into her mouth, loose curls getting dangerously close to dipping into her whiskey as she leans forward to catch crumbs over the table. Villanelle leans and pushes the curls away with her fingers, chuckling at Eve’s started expression. 

She keeps chewing though. 

“Your hair nearly took a bath.” Villanelle nods at Eve’s glass. Eve rolls her eyes and flips her hair back over her shoulder. Villanelle watches it bounce. 

God, that is good hair. 

She stops staring at it when she feels Eve’s eyes on her, and focuses on Eve’s face instead. 

“When did you leave Connecticut?”

Eve takes a sip of her old fashioned before answering. 

“When I was about 16? My parents got divorced and my dad wanted to move back to the UK, so I went with him.”

“And you were okay with leaving America?”

“Oh yeah.” Eve says with a firm nod, scooping more salsa than can fit on a nacho, frowning a little in concentration. “The US got boring, I wanted a change.”

“Divorce can lead to good things, a lot of the time.” Villanelle says with a soft shrug of her shoulders, and Eve gives her a small smile. 

“I mean, I could have done without the yelling? A divorce  _ sooner _ would’ve been better, really. But, yeah, divorces can work out well. Definitely.”

Eve’s looking at her, soft brown eyes flicking between Villanelle’s own, and Villanelle has to remind herself that Eve is her client. 

Eve is also her type. 

It is unhelpful. 

So she has to remind herself, because if she doesn’t, then she starts thinking about the hair and the eyes and skin and all of that is just very unprofessional. 

Villanelle has an impeccable reputation to uphold, and sleeping with a client is a sure fire way to burn that, not to mention it would completely destroy Eve’s case. 

It’s just that she hasn’t fucked anyone in a while and Eve really is very pretty and she has such thick hair and it is not fair on Villanelle. She cannot be blamed. 

But a passing attraction to a client is something she can easily get over, so she clears her throat a little to reset. 

“Another drink?”

Eve hums her approval around another mouthful of cheese. 

——

“I think I might be drunk.”

Villanelle giggles at Eve’s confession, eyes wide and serious and she holds a few fingers to her mouth in surprise. 

“I think you might be.” Villanelle nods easily. “But that is fine? So am I!”

“Yeah but, but I have work tomorrow.” Eve says, pushing her drink away from her as if that’ll help. Villanelle eyes the motion, amused. “And you’re my solicitor? I feel like... I don’t know, isn’t this against the rules?”

Villanelle laughs openly at Eve’s fretting before dropping a hand atop Eve’s remarkably soft wrist to stop her anxious movements. 

“Eve, it is okay, we are just friends having a drink, please relax.”

“Okay.” Eve says but looks unconvinced. “Okay.”

Tilting her head, Villanelle looks over Eve curiously. 

“Would talking about the case make you feel better? Like this is some kind of meeting, featuring alcohol? Because we can do that, if you would like.”

“Uh, okay, yeah.” Eve starts to nod slowly. “Let’s do that.”

“Alright.” Villanelle clears her throat and sits up straighter, pushing some loose hair back behind her ear. “So. Eve. You are getting divorced.”

”That is correct.”

Eve clasps her hands in front of her in what looks like an attempt to appear serious. Villanelle snickers before sobering under Eve’s firm gaze. 

“And you signed a prenup, meaning your husband will keep all the money his business has made, as he never specified that he would share that with you, and he purposefully kept his wages low. Sneaky sneaky.”

“Sneaky sneaky, yes.” Eve parrots with total sincerity. 

“So what you need to do, is…”

Villanelle trails off and lifts her eyebrows at Eve, who stares blankly back at her. There’s silence for a moment, and then Villanelle sighs. 

“Eve, we’ve been through this. What you need to do, is…” she gestures a hand, indicating Eve continues. 

Brown eyes suddenly go wide and Eve clicks her fingers triumphantly. 

“I need to go find proof that he might have cheated on me!”

“Oh, well I absolutely cannot tell you to do that, that would go against everything I work for.” Villanelle leans back and crosses her arms. 

There’s a brief pause where Eve looks stumped again, but she must see something in Villanelle’s eyes because she smirks a little. 

“Of course not.” She shrugs. “You didn’t say anything. But, uh, let’s say I decided to, completely unprompted, look for evidence that my husband might have had an affair. Let’s say I found it. What then?”

“Well,” Villanelle drains the last of her current drink then leans forward again on her elbows. “It would essentially draw a big cross through that prenup. If you were to find anything. Which I am super strongly encouraging you not to do, of course.”

Eve chuckles lightly and shakes her head. 

“Sorry to interrupt this little production, but isn’t what you’re doing like… very illegal?”

Villanelle brings a hand to her chest in faux shock. 

“I am not doing anything!” She says in a hurt voice. “I am just talking to my new friend who is fun and who deserves a better life, but if that friend would like to do this the normal way then we absolutely can and we can just forget this entire conversation happened.”

It’s quiet. Eve eyes Villanelle almost warily. She plays with the paper straw in her drink. 

“What if I don’t want to forget this conversation happened?”

“Well, I do not know what conversation you are talking about.” Villanelle shrugs dramatically, and Eve rolls her eyes with a small laugh. “But if you decided you are in, and want to keep not doing illegal things that I am not suggesting, then okay.”

Another moment of quiet. Eve let’s go of the straw. 

“I’m in.”

“In what? I didn’t say anything.” Villanelle says with a wink. 

Eve laughs again and sits back heavily in her chair. 

“This has been maybe the most confusion chat I’ve ever had.”

Villanelle shrugs yet again.

“I-”

“Oh my god, Villanelle if you say you don’t know what I’m talking about one more time, I’m gonna scream.”

Villanelle’s grin is easy as she orders them another round, and it stays on her face as she brings the back the drinks. Eve eyes the glass and then Villanelle disapprovingly. 

“Who’d have thought a lawyer would be such a bad influence.”

“Stop, you like it.” Villanelle says through a smug smile. 

Eve looks at the ceiling and then back at Villanelle, small smile curling her lips. 

“Maybe.” Eve says with a voice laced with fake frustration, and Villanelle beams. 

There’s a few minutes of comfortable silence as Eve checks something on her phone, and Villanelle uses that time to watch Eve and think. 

There’s something about the curly haired woman. It’s that passion, Villanelle thinks, that feistiness. So often, the people Villanelle represents are sad or furious or just  _ done _ , but with Eve, there is an interesting sort of fight within her. Not ready to give up, but not ready to drown in the emotions that come with a divorce, either. 

Villanelle finds it admirable. 

It adds to the whole look Eve has going on. It helps paint the picture of who Eve Polastri is in her mind. 

“Ugh.” Eve grumbles, dropping her phone to the table and rubbing at her forehead. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Just… having to go home after this. It’s not pleasant. I’ve been staying with a friend but I can’t do that forever.”

“Why can’t you?” Villanelle tilts her head curiously. Eve just shakes hers with a rueful smile. 

“Because he’ll think he’s won. Niko, I mean.” Eve waves a hand and picks up her drink with the other. “He’ll see it as some kind of victory, like ‘aha, Eve left the house, Eve is trying to stay away from me again, I was right all along’, and other bullshit.”

Villanelle frowns. 

“Can I speak as a friend?”

“Please.” Eve sighs. 

Ice clinks as Villanelle picks up her glass. 

“I think your husband is an arsehole.”

Eve looks startled for half a second, before laughter bubbles out of her, eyes crinkling at the sides. Villanelle has already mentioned before that it is a good laugh, and she finds herself filling up on it now, getting giddy from it.

“What! He is!” She insists over Eve’s laughter. “He sounds terrible!”

“Oh my god,” Eve says as her laughter dies down, “He really is, he’s… god, he is the  _ worst _ .”

“Why didn’t you get a divorce sooner?”

“It’s not that simple.” Eve sobers a little and stares into her drink. “It’s… I don’t know, it’s scary? You’re used to something for so long, certain things become normal and the thought of that changing can be a little unnerving.”

“Change is good.” Villanelle says softly. “It is freeing. It is a chance for something new.”

“Yeah.” Eve nods. “Yeah I know. And I’m excited for that, so excited, you have no idea. I’m ready for something different.”

Alcohol has loosened Villanelle’s tongue, her inhibitions, but she manages to clamp down on her ‘or someone different’ comment that wants to slip out, ready to emerge in the seductive tone she always uses when picking someone up.

Maybe drinks with an attractive client was not a good idea.

“Do you want to go get greasy food?”

Eve’s voice cuts through Villanelle’s thoughts cleanly and with great timing.

“More than anything.” Villanelle says seriously, and Eve grins.

“I want a doner kebab.” She announces while grabbing her bag from the floor and slipping her jacket on. “I need fuel if I’m going to face Niko.”

“Do you have to go back?” Villanelle asks, standing. “Can’t you stay with your friend just one more night?”

“I shouldn’t. Besides, my friend has a baby and it cries. A lot. I am tired.”

Villanelle laughs and gives her a sympathetic smile as they leave the bar.

“I am sorry. Babies are gross.”

“Eh, Bill is great though, and the kid is pretty cute. I can cope, just not tonight.”

“Will you be okay?” Villanelle asks Eve as they step into the cool spring air. Eve shrugs, and they head towards the kebab place a few doors down.

“Yeah. I’m used to… how he is.” Eve says it flippantly, but Villanelle can feel the hidden emotion there, repressed after what sounds like years of building walls. “He’ll probably call me a drunk, or irresponsible. Or maybe he won’t speak to me at all. I hope it’s the latter.”

Biting her lips between her teeth, Villanelle stops herself from saying something unprofessional. 

More unprofessional than calling Eve’s husband an arsehole, anyway.

Instead she sighs a little before gently taking hold of Eve’s shoulders, turning the woman to face her.

“Listen. I know we do not really know each other, but I can tell you are a good person.” Eve is staring up at her, eyes wide, as Villanelle continues. “Please, do not let what that man says get to you. It is not true. I already know it is not true. Do not let the words touch you. Okay?”

“It’s not… I can’t just…” Eve stumbles over her words, looking doubtful, looking down, and Villanelle squeezes the shoulders under her palms softly.

“Say you will try.”

Eve stops fidgeting and looks at Villanelle again, that glint of fire back in her eyes, settling something inside of Villanelle.

“I’ll try.” Eve says quietly, but firmly, and Villanelle smiles. 

She waits for a moment, then lets go of Eve and takes a step back.

“So. Kebab?”

——

“That’s me.” Eve turns to look at the Uber that’s just pulled up alongside them as they finish off their food. “Thank you for tonight, Villanelle. I didn’t know how much I needed to get out.”

“Anytime.” Villanelle smiles. “And I will see you soon anyway, we have a lot more to go through.”

Eve nods as she steps backwards towards the car door.

“Ah yes.” She says. “Back to business. Right, well, I’d better get this over with.”

Eve opens the car and is about to slide inside, when something makes Villanelle call out.

“Wait!” 

Eve sticks her head out of the door, not quite closed, and Villanelle takes a few long strides to reach her. “Give me your phone.”

“What?”

“Let me give you my number. In case you need it for later tonight.” Eve stares at her curiously, and Villanelle shrugs. “And in case you need to reach me for divorce questions. Although you should probably call Hugo for that… yeah, don’t use it for work stuff. Just, give me your phone.”

There’s a smile on Eve’s face as she hands her iPhone over, and Villanelle has to look away from it. She finds the smile interesting, in some way, which does not make sense to her. Maybe too much vodka. She taps her number in and texts herself a confetti emoji.

“There, so if you need me, just text, okay?”

“Okay.” Eve nods slowly, smiling up at Villanelle with that expression again, the interesting one, still firmly in place. “I will. I’ll see you later, Villanelle.”

“See you later, Eve.”

The door slams shut and the car moves on, leaving Villanelle standing alone on the street, staring at the bar.

She could go home.

Or she could head back inside, talk to some people, maybe find someone to bring back to hers to take some of the weird edge off that she’s been feeling.

Villanelle stares at the bar. 

She heads home.


	7. Not in front of Gemma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, Eve, not in front of the Gemma! (V is back in force next chapter xo)

The ride back is nauseating, and not just because of the amount of whiskey she’s had throughout the night. 

Or the bumpiness of the ride due to the driver having some kind of death wish as he darts in and out of London traffic. 

No, part of the nausea comes from the thought of going home to Niko.

How had she done it so many times before? She’d felt anxiety those times, sure, especially when she was late, but never like this. This time it’s twisting her gut. 

She so, so desperately doesn’t want to see him. 

The Uber pulls up outside her house and her stomach sinks further when she sees that the lamp is on in the living room. 

She takes as long as she can to walk to the front door, then stands and stares at the handle. 

All she has to do is turn it. 

It’ll be ten minutes of him sneering, fifteen tops, and then she can go upstairs. 

Eve opens the door, steps inside, shuts it behind her. 

She’s taking off her shoes when he speaks. 

“Finally decided to show up then?”

Ten minutes. Fifteen, tops. 

“I was out with a friend.” Eve says from the hallway, hanging up her coat. 

“You know despite the divorce, you do still have to pull your weight around here?”

“Yes, Niko, I know how to be an adult.” 

“Doesn’t seem like it.” He bites back. 

Eve walks into the living room and finds him in his armchair, TV off and no book in sight. Had he just been sitting there waiting for her?

“Fine.” Eve tries to stay calm. “I’m home now. What can I do?”

“Nothing,” Niko glowers, “you’re drunk.”

“Okay, I’ll just go upstairs then.”

“Sure, just leave everything to me then. Typical.”

“Oh my god, Niko.” Eve mumbles, pinching the bridge of her nose. “What do you want from me.”

It’s not a question, but of course Niko answers anyway. 

“I want you to act like you give a shit.”

“But I don’t!” 

As soon as the words leave her mouth and she sees his face stretch into a small smirk, she knows she’s played right into his usual bullshit victim trap. 

“And there it is.” He says it slowly, shaking his head. “You don’t care. You never did, did you.”

He’s not asking a question, but Eve feels an answer boiling you in her anyway. 

“I always cared, it just gets hard to show it when you never give me a chance!”

“That’s right, blame it on me again.” He bites, and Eve just drops her head back and stares at the ceiling because oh my god, they’re getting a divorce and yet these types of arguments are  _ still happening _ ?

“No, you know what? I’m not doing this tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay, just walk away.” Niko sneers as she turns. 

“That’s literally what I’m doing.” She bites back, then throws a pitying look at him over her shoulder. “And by the way, waiting for me to get home just so you can get angry at me? Fucking grow up.”

She heads up the stairs, ignoring whatever remark he flings at her back. 

——

Eve’s head hurts the next morning. 

She remembers, as she’s lying there feeling sorry for herself while staring at the spare room’s ceiling, that she has Villanelle’s number now. She considers texting the blonde and cursing her for causing this headache, then thinks better of it. 

Professionalism, and all that. 

Although Villanelle has given it to her for friend purposes, not for divorce stuff...

No. Professionalism. 

Eve gets up after checking the time. She doesn’t want to appear downstairs only for him to still be here, getting ready for work. She showers and dresses, then heads down to make a quick breakfast of coffee before she heads to work, but stops still in the doorway. 

Niko is still here. Sat at the table. Laptop open in front of him. 

Eve says nothing, and wills herself to walk as casually as possible over to the coffee machine. 

The silence is deafening, but Eve welcomes it, welcomes the press of it against her ears as she goes about making her coffee as though no one else is in the room. 

“I have a solicitor.”

Well, there goes that blissful cotton wool quiet. 

Eve realises she has to respond, because if Niko now has a lawyer then they’ll need to swap details so their lawyers can be in contact. 

She clears her throat. 

“Okay. Good. Who is it?”

“Who’s yours?” Niko says, argumentatively. 

“Jesus Niko, it’s not a competition.” She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose to fend off a headache building on top of her existing hangover headache. “Ms Astankova from Vasiliev & Astankova.”

Niko stares at her, then chuckles a little while staring down at his toast. 

“Wow.” He says calmly, but Eve knows something else is coming. He looks back up at her, one eyebrow quirked. “Expensive. Using your dad’s inheritance?”

Eve prickles fiercely. 

“Do not talk about him,” she replies coolly, “and it’s none of your business.” She holds herself back from mentioning him keeping his company profits out of his wages. Somehow it feels that that would just make things worse for her case. 

Niko shrugs, maddeningly smug looking as he sits there with his burnt toast and milky tea. 

“I’m with Raymond Smith of Peele & Smith.”

The name rings a bell for Eve, but only vaguely, probably from her stressed google search days ago. She nods at Niko. 

“Okay.” 

It’s all Eve says before she fishes her phone from her pocket, quickly forwarding the firm’s front desk number and email address to Niko. He replies in kind, details appearing on Eve’s screen a minute later. 

It’s the most civil action between the two in weeks, and it’s exchanging solicitor details, for god’s sake. 

The new silence isn’t as good as the last. 

Eve leaves as soon as her coffee is ready. 

——

Work is fine. It’s busy, there’s a lot happening in London and Eve has no shortage of tasks and briefs to get done, so for a beautiful nine hours there’s nothing but that pleasant work buzz that Eve loves so much. 

Her only love, now. 

Well. Her only love for the past year or so, if she’s ready to be completely honest with herself. 

It comes as a sobering shock when the woman across the desk from her points out the time. 

“It’s gone 7, Eve.”

“Shit, thanks.” Eve says, glancing at the clock on her screen. For a moment she panics, struck with that feeling she’d always get when realising she was late and that Niko would be angry, but then she remembers. 

And god fucking damn it, there’s that stomach churning anxiety at the thought of going home back again, a second night in a row. 

Is this how it’s going to be from now on? Does Eve need to move out? No, she can’t afford to do that until they sell the house post-divorce. 

The thought of ‘no end in sight’ hits her and the anxiety doubles to the point where she wonders if she’s going to cry. 

After a few moments of deep breathing, Eve scoops up some paperwork and shoves it into her bag to read at home, then heads out for the night. 

The tube ride home presents Eve with time to think about her life outside of work. 

Niko. Niko is most of her life outside of work. Great. 

Thoughts of him begin to swarm her, all making that feeling in her stomach crawl up into her chest, tightening around her lungs like vines. 

The tube carriage is suddenly stiflingly hot and the bodies pressing into her are making her skin prickle, like their spring jackets are covered in needles that pierce through Eve’s sweater like there’s nothing there. 

Eve realises she needs to think of something else before she has a panic attack right in the middle of a packed tube next to a man not wearing deodorant. 

Something else. 

Anything else. 

Something new, something new. 

Her current articles aren’t holding her attention, Niko’s sneer cutting through like a hot knife through butter, and she panics more, panics more, panics-

Villanelle. 

Villanelle Astankova, solicitor, successful and smart and so  _ cool _ .

Eve hasn’t thought of anyone as  _ cool _ since she was a teenager. 

She’s a mystery, that’s for sure. Eve and Villanelle had spoken for hours the night before, about Villanelle’s job and Eve’s job and little bits about their favourite foods and their favourite movies, and yet Eve was still curious. There’s so much to learn about the other woman, and Eve finds herself hoping she gets the chance to. 

She wants to know how Villanelle got into her profession, how she’s the name partner of a firm at only 30 years old, what made her want to do this in the first place. 

She wants to know where Villanelle shops for her stylish outfits, what her no doubt fancy apartment looks like, whether she drives a sports car to work or gets the tube like everyone else. 

She wants to know if Villanelle has any pets, wants to know her favourite colour, what’s to know what she has for lunch on her days at the office. 

It’s weird to want to know so much about one person, but Villanelle is just so interesting; there’s a quality to her that draws Eve in. 

The disembodied tube voice announces her stop, and Eve is startled at how quickly the rest of her journey went. Her chest has loosened too, her breathing completely fine and temperature back to normal. 

Huh. 

Thinking about Villanelle worked better than she’d expected. 

She steps off the tube and heads for the escalator. 

——

Eve wants to turn around the second she hears the laughter.

She’s halfway through opening the door when it floats through the widening gap, and Eve knows exactly who is sat in her living room as she pulls off her shoes.

“Gemma. Hi.”

“Oh, Eve, hello!”

God, that nasal voice will never not drive Eve up the fucking wall.

Niko is sat next to her on the sofa, and he’s smirking. He’s  _ smirking _ . It’s partly hidden beneath his moustache but Eve knows his face like the back of her hand. She smiles overly sweet in return.

“Hello Niko.” Eve says politely, knowing he’ll hear the irritation simmering underneath her voice. “You didn’t mention you’d have a guest over this evening.”

“Oh gosh, what? Niko,” Gemma turns to face him, “am I intruding? Should I leave? I should leave, Eve I am so sorry-”

“Gem, it’s fine,” he says, and Eve feels something inside of her curl unpleasantly when she sees his hand land comfortingly on her forearm, “I don’t need to make Eve aware of any friends I have over, what with the divorce and all.”

It’s silent, tensely silent, and Eve suddenly gets it. Niko’s not told Gemma yet.

“You’re getting divorced?” Gemma says quietly.

Eve just about holds back a scoff at the clear interest in the woman’s voice, barely concealed beneath some weak attempt at saddened shock.

“Yes,” Eve deadpans, “surprising, I know.”

“Niko, you didn’t say…” 

Eve rolls her eyes at the gentle tone and the even gentler hand touching the back of Niko’s. He smiles sadly at her in a way that ten years ago would've made Eve drop everything to take care of him, but now just makes Eve feel a bit nauseous. 

Gemma basically melts in front of him.

The poor simpering fool has no idea.

Eve is about to excuse herself when Niko continues, talking in that soft voice that Eve hasn’t heard directed at her in about two years.

“Eve is leaving me. Apparently I’m just not quite worth the effort anymore.”

And, okay. Eve can withstand a lot of things. She can deal with insults. She can deal with criticism. She can even deal with lies. But what she cannot deal with is being made the bad guy. 

If she’s going to be painted as a bad guy then she’d at least like to have fun doing something bad, first. 

She curls her fingers around her thumb tightly, the joint popping. 

“Excuse me?”

Eve realises a moment too late that she’s once again walked right into it, done exactly what Niko expected her to do. 

“Please don’t get angry again, not in front of Gemma.”

Gemma, who sits stock still, hands clasped in her lap with her head down but tilted to the side to stare at Niko. 

“Don’t do that, don’t spin this on me just because  _ she _ is here.” Eve says quietly, dangerous in a way that she hopes only Niko picks up on. 

“She has a name.” Niko says, and god, he’s acting so fucking smug. “And I’m not spinning anything. You  _ wanted _ this.”

“Oh I absolutely did.  _ Do _ .” 

“ _ Eve _ . How  _ could _ you?” Gemma says, sounding scandalised. 

Is this woman really sitting there, on her sofa, next to her soon to the ex husband, in her house, chastising Eve? 

Eve laughs. 

“Are you kidding?” She says through a grin that must look manic. “Really? You really want to go there?”

Niko stands up and steps between them, glint in his eye that only Eve can see. 

“Eve, please, leave her alone. She’s just looking out for me, she’s done nothing wrong. Have you been drinking?”

And oh, he is really fucking pushing it, really trying to see how far he can push her before she bursts, showering the room in a rage he’ll use at every opportunity. 

He’ll use it in the divorce proceedings. 

Eve takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm the pounding of her heart, the thrum of blood heavy in her veins. 

She smiles apologetically, gives a theatrical sigh. 

“You’re right,” she says in a soft voice, “I’m so sorry Gemma. I had a long day. I got some bad news at work,”  _ not true _ , “and I’m exhausted. I let my temper get the better of me.”

Gemma nods and her shoulders relax a little under long auburn hair. Eve turns to face Niko next. 

“I’m sorry Niko. You know how I get after bad days.”

His lip curls into a near snarl, and Eve smiles wider. 

“Please, enjoy the rest of your evening. I’m so glad Niko has a friend like you, Gemma. Stay as long as you want.”

Gemma is smiling too now. The woman has made appearances here over the last five years, coming by for dinner and drinks, and has come to Niko’s bridge club more than a handful of times, and Eve thinks that Gemma might be the kind of person that assumes that means they’re friends. 

They’re not. 

“Gosh, don’t worry about it Eve. Goodness knows I can get into a mood after a bad day too. And I really am sorry about… um…” she gestures feebly between the two of them, manicured finger pointing before quickly curling back into her lap. “Anyway, thank you but I probably should-”

She makes to stand up, but Eve waves her back. 

“No, no, you stay.” Eve says kindly, “I’ll go. I’m the one causing issues after all! I have a friend I can go see.”

Niko opens his mouth to say something, frowning, but for once Eve has managed to find her way out of his trap, a rabbit tugging itself loose from a wire. 

“Bye guys, have a good night.”

And then she’s in the hallway, pulling her shoes back on and leaving before Niko’s shadow can fall over her retreating form. 

Outside, she strides down the pavement and away from the house. 

Where the fuck is she going?

When there’s enough distance between herself and the house, and the road seems quiet and the homes sit still, she stops. 

“Fuck!” She shrieks. 

It echoes, a dog starts barking, a light turns on in a living room nearby, and Eve runs. 

And she runs. 

Unfortunately she can’t run for long, because she’s in her work clothes and has a big shoulder bag slung over her arm, so she slows to a halt and slumps down onto a nearby bench. 

Where the  _ fuck _ is she  _ going _ ? 

She drops her head into her hands and moans sadly. 

Bill is away on business, leaving just Keiko and the baby behind, and as much as Eve gets on with the duo, she can’t expect Keiko to just welcome her in at 9pm, sweating in her jacket and without any overnight stuff. 

She pulls her phone out with a sigh to look up nearby hotels, but freezes when she sees a notification on her screen. 

_ V: Just saw an episode of Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives, and the blonde man ate three trash can lids worth of nachos. I think could take him.  _

And god, what a glorious shimmer of humour, immediately lighting up this shit-fest of an evening. 

Eve: I absolutely could. 

She smiles as she types the reply, but it drops slightly as the text sends. 

Where the fuck is she going?

She battles internally for a moment, before settling on a decision. She types out another text. 

Eve: Niko has been awful, so I’m staying in a hotel tonight. I’m so angry. Don’t know why I’m telling you this? Maybe let Hugo know not to ring the home phone if he needs to reach me. 

She sends it, then pockets the phone. 

A sigh leaves her, easier than before. 

Funny how just a dumb text from Villanelle has left her feeling a little lighter. 

Just like the thoughts of her did on the tube earlier. 

Seems like Villanelle is becoming Eve’s current escape route. 

A shimmer in the dark. 


	8. Hungry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I am very tired!

Villanelle taps her nails against her wooden desk, listening to the soft clicks in the otherwise silent room. 

She pokes her phone screen. 

17:07

Eve is late. 

Her nails click again as she thinks about buzzing through to Hugo. Maybe he forgot to tell her Eve is running late. 

No. She is only seven minutes late. Villanelle will wait.

It is not a problem anyway. Villanelle doesn’t care. 

Her nails click once more. 

She buzzes Hugo. 

“No, Villanelle, Eve is not here yet and she hasn’t called.”

Villanelle frowns at the little box on her desk. 

“That is not what I was going to ask.”

“Oh yeah? What were you going to ask then?”

Villanelle purses her lips. 

“I was going to ask… if… you could please bring me a coffee.”

There’s a scoff on the other end and Villanelle narrows her eyes, even though the man can’t see her. 

“It’s after 3pm.” Hugo drawls. “You don’t drink caffeine after 3pm.”

“Yes, well, today I am.” Villanelle says with her chin tilted up. “So, if you would not mind.”

“Okay, sure, I’ll go get your coffee.”

The speaker clicks off, but Villanelle gasps and presses the button again in a burst of inspiration. 

“Hugo! Hugo, get Eve one too please. Whatever it is she normally has. Please.”

She decides to ignore his snort of laughter. 

Five minutes and many fantastic nail tapping rhythms later, there’s a knock at her door. 

“Um, hello? Villanelle?”

Villanelle straightens herself up and smooths her hair a little before catching herself and rolling her eyes. 

“Come on in, Eve.” She calls back. 

When Eve peeks round the door, Villanelle smiles brightly and beckons the woman inside, eyes flicking quickly up and down as she takes in Eve’s outfit. 

God, the clothes Villanelle could buy her. 

“No Hugo today?” Eve asks as she takes off her coat and hangs it from the coat rack in the corner.

As Villanelle starts to answer, the door opens again to reveal Hugo, two coffees in hand. 

“Hello Eve, you’re late.” He quips, handing one cup to the woman, who rolls her eyes in response. 

“Do not talk to my clients that way.” Villanelle snaps. 

She realises she may have come off a little strong when the other two then stare at her, Hugo looking embarrassed and Eve smirking slightly, surprised. 

“Sorry, Ms Astankova. I was just joking around.” Hugo says awkwardly. He walks over and places the cup on her desk before flashing her a wide eyed and questioning look, but she just glances off into the corner. 

She will apologise to him later. 

For now though, she waits until he leaves the room and then nods at the chair. 

“Anyway, hello Eve, how are you?”

“I’m okay, I’m sorry I’m late.” Eve says as she drops into the chair, brushing her curls away from her face. “I stopped by the hotel after leaving work and misjudged how long it would take to get here.”

“It is fine.” Villanelle says with a small wave of her hand, but her smile is concerned. “So you are staying in a hotel? You did not reply to my message on Wednesday.”

Villanelle had found herself slightly worried a couple of nights ago when Eve didn’t reply to Villanelle’s reaction to the woman staying in a hotel, but she’d just put it down to Eve not wanting to talk about.

“I know, sorry.” Eve says with a sigh, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes briefly. “I was just… I was flustered and trying to settle into the room and then I was asleep and, yeah.”

“It’s no problem.” Villanelle smiles, relieved. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Eve smiles too. 

“I appreciate that.”

And then they are both just smiling slightly, and Villanelle finds she doesn’t want to look away. Eve’s hair is especially curly today, probably from her rushing from the hotel to here, and her red tight-knit sweater works beautifully with the flush on her cheeks from the journey. 

Villanelle grabs her pen and clicks the end a few times to centre herself. 

“Okay, so we left off, officially, with me absolutely not indicating you should think about finding evidence of wrong doings on Niko’s part.” Villanelle says seriously in an attempt to pull herself back into business mode. 

Eve nods across from her while pulling a bottle of water from her bag. She takes a sip of it and Villanelle watches her throat bob as she swallows. 

She hurries on to her next point.

“And, unofficially, you decided to see what you could find, which I did not tell you to do and do not condone.” 

“Literally no idea what you’re talking about.” Eve smiles with a wink as she slips the bottle back into the bag. “But, totally on my own, I  _ did _ think about it. And  _ did _ ... I mean… well.”

Interest piqued but aware of how Eve has started shifting uncomfortably in front of her, Villanelle leans forward a little. 

“What happened?” She asks gently but with a tone of professionalism, sensing Eve needs this to be a more formal conversation rather than a casual one, which Villanelle gets. The formality of business gives the perfect excuse to hold back emotion. 

“I think… okay. Okay, so, there’s this woman. Gemma.” Eve looks put out as she mutters the name, but she sounds more exasperated than annoyed. “She’s an idiot, Villanelle, I’m not kidding, but she and Niko have been friends for years and she’s worked for him for even longer, so I put up with her. 

Villanelle twists her lips in an attempt to not smile at Eve’s description of whoever Gemma is. 

“I got home last night and she was there, and Niko told her right then that I was leaving him, and she just… like, a  _ child _ could have read the interest in her voice, you know?”

Villanelle nods, then nudges Eve’s coffee closer to her. The other woman notices and smiles gratefully before grabbing the cup and continuing. 

“And I’ve always thought that Gemma was just this annoying woman who thought the sun shone out of Niko’s ass, but now… I don’t know. I feel like I saw it in a different light last night.”

Villanelle knows she has to tread carefully here. Years of experience in this field have taught her that while there is no choice but to ask the question, it must be done gently. 

“Eve, do you think Niko and Gemma may have had a romantic relationship while you and Niko were together?”

Eve is silent, looking down at her fingers, and Villanelle watches her. 

She has had countless clients in her career in all types of situations and emotional states, but none have ever made her feel quite as  _ involved _ as Eve does. 

Villanelle finds herself getting angry, a low level irritation building at the thought of someone doing this to Eve, sneaking around behind her back when all she has been trying to do all along is her best. 

Villanelle fists her hand in her lap before stretching out her fingers, trying to relax the tension currently simmering in her body. 

This is absolutely not the place for getting angry. This is her  _ job _ . It doesn’t matter how well she gets on with a client, she will not suddenly drop the professionalism to get pissy over some  _ husband _ . 

Villanelle clears her throat, gently. 

“I know this is a very difficult situation,” she says carefully, and Eve huffs out a soft laugh, “so you do not need to confirm, if you do not want to.”

Eve looks up, and Villanelle is surprised to see a little fire in dark brown eyes.

“Yeah, it’s difficult.” Eve agrees. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to commit to this. So yes, I do think maybe something happened there. Or is happening. I don’t know, I don’t really want to think about it, but yes.”

“And are you willing to dig a little deeper, for the sake of the divorce?”

Eve sits up straight, shoulders strong. 

“Yes.”

It feels like electricity, a tingling little spark in her chest, when a client wants to take the harder route. Villanelle lives for the thrill of a more challenging hunt, when the prey is a predator itself. 

Or  _ him _ self. 

“Okay then.” Villanelle says with a satisfied smile. “Let’s get to work.”

——

And hour and a half passes before either of them realise the time, and it only happens then due to Hugo knocking on the door. 

When he sticks his head through the gap, jacket on over his floral grey shirt, he looks at Villanelle pointedly, then throws a knowing look at the back of Eve’s head, then back at Villanelle again. 

“Sorry to disturb you, ladies,” he says, and Eve turns in her chair to look at him, “but it’s gone half six, so I’m gonna go.”

“Shit, half six?” Eve jerks into motion for a split second before something passes over her eyes, and then she relaxes. “Oh, I, uh… okay.”

Villanelle realises it’s probably an automatic panic left over from her husband getting angry at her lateness. It makes her teeth clench. 

Hugo notices the tightness in her jaw, of course, because Hugo notices everything, and he flashes her yet another pointed look laced with amusement. 

Hugo teasing her for spending time with attractive clients will clearly never get old for him.

“Thank you Hugo,” Villanelle says, giving him her own look, “see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is Saturday.” He says with a barely controlled grin. 

“Then I will see you when I see you,” Villanelle gets out through a smile of gritted teeth, “unless I fire you for bothering me during a meeting, okay?”

It doesn’t intimidate Hugo like it had earlier, and he simply raises his eyebrows at her. 

“Got it.” He drawls with a smirk. “See you Monday.”

And then he’s gone, leaving Eve and Villanelle alone again. 

When Eve turns back around, she looks bemused.

“That guy is weird.”

Villanelle laughs, surprised, and nods happily.

“Yes, he is. Terrible employee, but very loyal.”

“Loyalty is more important to you than getting the job done?” Eve asks curiously, and Villanelle can’t read whether Eve is judging her or not.

“Yes.” Villanelle says simply. “In this business, loyalty is more important than you’d think. It should be in _any_ business.”

Eve hums at that, like she’s taking it in, and Villanelle watches her slightly furrowed brow, her full lips pursing thoughtfully, the barely-there freckles on tan skin. Villanelle wonders if Eve is aware of how attractive she is, or if living with a man like Niko has dulled her awareness of it. The thought makes her annoyed all over again, but she sweeps it away by clearing her throat.

She really needs to get a handle on this attraction.

“Would you like to finish for the day?” Villanelle asks Eve, the sound of her voice snapping the brunette out of whatever thought she’d sunk into. The woman nods, grabbing a notebook she’d been scribbling in and shoving it haphazardly into her giant bag.

Villanelle can’t help but laugh a little when Eve slings the huge thing over her shoulder.

“What?” Eve says with wide eyes, small smile curving her lips.

“Your bag is so big.” Villanelle chuckles. “Would a handbag not be easier?”

“Oh, I don’t have one.” Eve shrugs. “This is the only bag I have. Why would I need another? Everything fits in this one.”

Villanelle blinks.

“I do not understand what you just said.”

It’s Eve’s turn to laugh now, and she does it with a shake of her head.

“I don’t expect someone of your style standards to get it.” Eve says, walking to the corner of the room for her coat. “I just don’t see the point in having more than one bag when this one does everything.”

“Because… because?” Villanelle sputters. “Because bags are beautiful?”

“Sure,” Eve nods, “but I’m not made of money, and this bag is fine.”

Villanelle stews for a minute, lips twisted, and Eve laughs at her again. Villanelle huffs out a breath and frowns.

“When is your birthday?”

Eve looks surprised.

“Why, so you can buy me a bag?”

“No…” Villanelle drags out, innocently. “I am just wondering.”

“Okay, well, I’m not telling you.” Eve shrugs, hand on the handle of the door.

“Fine.” Villanelle responds, glancing away from Eve. “It’s in your file anyway.”

Eve shakes her head with a chuckle and pulls open the door. 

“You buy me a bag and I’m donating it to charity.” Eve says with one last look at Villanelle, and then she’s gone, not letting Villanelle react to that very upsetting threat.

The blonde stays in her chair for a while, spinning from side to side gently, staring at nothing as she thinks about Eve.

For the hundredth time, Villanelle thinks about how there is just something about her. Something about her that makes Villanelle want to look out for her, protect her. Not that Eve needs protecting; the woman clearly can handle herself, but seeing how she shrinks when they talk about Niko makes Villanelle want to-

It doesn’t matter what she wants.

Eve is a force to be reckoned with, Villanelle can  _ feel _ it, but Niko has been dulling her edges with his moods and insults, and Villanelle wonders how sharp Eve used to be before him.

Like a blade, Villanelle thinks.

She would love to prick her finger on that point.

Villanelle lets that thought simmer and turn into something warm, indulging just this once until her stomach rumbles.

Villanelle stops swinging in her chair and realises she’s not eaten since lunch, which is about four hours too long to go without eating. She doesn’t feel like cooking, so she grabs her phone from the edge of her desk to order Chinese food to be at her apartment by the time she gets back, but a notification stops her.

_ Eve: I realise I literally just left, but the thought of going back to a hotel is really not how I want to spend a Friday evening, so let me know if you want to go grab dinner or something when you’re finished? If that’s a stupid suggestion then please just ignore this. _

Villanelle reads the text through twice. Would Eve have considered dinner with a new friend ‘stupid’ before Niko? Villanelle knows there’s confidence in Eve, buried under years of marriage. She just needs help uncovering it.

With a smile, she taps out a quick reply before grabbing her neat briefcase and blazer jacket.

Villanelle: Absolutely, I am leaving now. Are you still nearby?

_ Eve: I may or may not still be outside the building… _

Villanelle grins happily at her phone as she leaves her office, locking the door behind her and striding towards the elevator. She smooths her hair in the reflective metal and dabs a little more lipstick on while waiting for the doors to open, and sends a reply.

Villanelle: Hoping I’d say yes? I do not blame you, my taste in food places is exquisite.

As she steps into the elevator and revels in the drop of her stomach as it descends, Villanelle watches the three dots appear and disappear, appear and disappear, until finally Eve replies just as Villanelle is reaching the ground floor.

_ Eve: Those nachos last time were a holy experience. _

Villanelle laughs and pockets her phone, toe tapping as she watches the LED numbers above the door.

**17, 16, 15**

Dinner with Eve. 

A small thrill dances its way through her stomach, and Villanelle lets it. She’s no stranger to dinner with beautiful women, has no difficulties in getting women to agree to eat with her, dance with her, sleep with her, but with Eve it is different. Even though it‘s just dinner as friends, it’s different.

**9, 8, 7**

But maybe this isn’t a good idea. Eve is her client, and the worst thing that could happen right now is Villanelle‘s attraction to her growing into something she can’t keep out of the office. 

Sure, it’s a divorce case, and after it Eve will be single, and sure, Eve does seem to react to Villanelle pretty well, a spark of interest in her eyes that could be  _ something, _ or could be  _ not _ something. Still, Villanelle needs to be careful. She didn’t work this hard to throw it all away over a passing desire to fuck a client.

**3, 2, 1**

It doesn’t matter. None of what Villanelle thinks matters, not really. She is going for dinner with someone who she enjoys the company of and vice versa. A new friend, a good acquaintance, someone she wants to get to know because Eve really does seem like an interesting person, and Villanelle wants to learn more about the fire in those brown eyes.

**G**

The doors slide open revealing the ground floor, and through the glass wall across the room Villanelle can see Eve, bathed in early evening light and staring into the reception area space.

Eve lifts a hand in a wave and smiles.

And Villanelle, well.

Villanelle is hungry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the UK, the floor at the bottom is called the ground floor (G) because it’s on the ground. None of that bizarre ‘first floor’ nonsense. The first floor is clearly the first floor above the ground, so.


	9. Are you interested?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did tell you it was slow burn!

Villanelle eats like she works: fast, passionately, and with great attention to detail.

Not a crumb of her beef wellington is left on the plate when she’s finished, not a smudge of gravy or speck of salt, and Eve can only stare in amazement.

“You  _ were _ hungry.” Eve says with a raised eyebrow, and Villanelle shrugs in response, wiping at her mouth with a napkin.

“Waste not, want not.” Villanelle says before sipping her wine. “Food is meant to be eaten and enjoyed.”

“And enjoy it you did.” Eve says with a pointed stare at the plate. She looks back up at the sound of Villanelle’s happy laughter. “But I eat at a normal human pace, so you’ll have to talk while I finish.”

“Eve you eat like a crocodile.”

“Hey! I just have a big appetite.” Eve defends herself, and Villanelle gives Eve and her plate an amused look before she relaxes, taking another sip of red wine.

“Okay, what shall I talk about?”

“Tell me about you.” Eve says, before forking some chicken pie into her mouth.

Villanelle wrinkles her nose.

“Why?”

“Because-” Eve starts, spraying crumbs everywhere and making Villanelle scoff in mock disgust. She narrows her eyes at Villanelle playfully as she hurriedly chews and swallows. “Because I want to know.”

Villanelle tilts her head a little, and Eve feels studied. She feels like Villanelle is always studying her, one way or another.

“But why? Why do you want to know more about me? You already know my favourite colour.”

“And as wonderful as knowing that is,” Eve says with an eye roll, “there is more to you than red being your favourite colour. “Tell me about Russia.”

If Eve was in another profession, or was raised to ignore her keen sense of observation, she’s sure she’d miss the slight change in Villanelle’s expression. It’s a shadow, and it’s fast, falling in front of her eyes and leaving just as quickly before Villanelle flashes a casual smile at her.

“Russia is very big and cold, and the national animal is the Russian brown bear.”

Eve deadpans her across the table, but can’t help but smile a little at the blonde’s answer.

“Okay, thank you.” Eve says with a sarcastic nod of her head. “But what is Russia to  _ you _ ?”

Eve gets the feeling no one has ever asked it quite like that before, judging by the soft frown on Villanelle’s face.

“Russia is…” Villanelle bites her lip in thought. “Russia is not home, for me. It is a place where I started and a place that helped shape me, but it is not home. It is just a place.”

When Villanelle looks back at Eve, her gaze is daring. Daring Eve to ask more or daring Eve to question her response, Eve isn’t sure, so she goes with the easy option.

“Deep.” Eve breathes out, nodding slowly with her eyes squinted in thought, and Villanelle scoffs before throwing her balled up napkin at her. It lands right in Eve’s food. “Ew, my pie!”

“Oh relax,” Villanelle says in amusement as she reaches over and plucks the napkin from the puddle of sauce it had plopped into. “It’s only a napkin.”

“A napkin that has been on your mouth.” Eve retorts, immediately pushing the sauce to the side of the plate with the edge of her knife.

“What’s wrong with my mouth?”

Eve feels her stomach lurch the tiniest bit at the question, and she looks up with wide eyes.

“Nothing!” She says in an unnecessary rush. “Nothing is wrong with it- uh, your mouth. Your mouth is fine, perfectly lovely, it’s- wait, I don’t mean, I don’t mean  _ that _ , I mean-”

“Jesus, did I break you?” Villanelle says with a disbelieving laugh, and Eve drops her fork into her food with a clang of metal on porcelain. 

Eve is flustered. The good food and the good wine and the good company has her feeling all sorts of relaxed, as relaxed as she can remember feeling for a long time, but at the same time it has her nerves running high, and how does that even make  _ sense _ ?

She chances a look at Villanelle who has her chin resting on her hand now, grinning at Eve and her undoubtedly flushed cheeks. Her hazel eyes are sparkling in the light of the restaurant, her teeth shining white with plump pink lips stretched over them, and Eve is reminded for the hundredth time of how attractive Villanelle is.

It’s not a new thought, of course, but it’s evolving. Evolving from ‘Oh wow, that woman is  _ gorgeous’ _ to ‘Oh wow, that  _ woman _ is gorgeous’. The evolved form is new to Eve. She isn’t quite sure what to do with it.

It’s something she needs to think about, but not now. 

She clears her throat and slides her knife next to her fork.

“You’re not finished because of the napkin, are you?” Villanelle says, suddenly concerned. “Because I can buy you more pie, it’s okay.”

As Villanelle starts looking for a waiter, Eve reaches over and puts her hand over Villanelle’s

“No, I’m done, don’t worry.”

It’s only when Villanelle glances down at their hands, lightning fast before looking back up again, that Eve pulls hers away. She holds it in her lap under the table.

“Anyway,” Eve says in an attempt to drag herself out of whatever she’s landed in, “you told me about Russia. Ask me something.”

Villanelle looks happy with this suggestion and sits up straighter, eyes darting over Eve as she bites her lip again in thought.

“Okay. Did you have any pets growing up?”

It’s a strange question, a very specific question, and at this point Eve expects nothing less.

“I had two cats and a fuck tonne of fish,” Eve says, delighting in the sound when she makes Villanelle chuckle, “and they all slept in my room in total harmony.”

“What were the cats called?”

Eve looks pointedly away from Villanelle to a far corner of the room as she answers.

“Alice and Aurora.”

“Alice and Aurora…” Villanelle says, and Eve looks at her as recognition starts to brighten her eyes. “Is it a coincidence that they’re both-”

“Disney characters? No.” Eve huffs, embarrassed. “I... was big into Disney and princesses as a kid.”

Villanelle blinks.

“I was going to say is it a coincidence they both started with A.” Villanelle says through a widening grin. “But wow. Eve loves Disney cartoons.”

“They’re not cartoons, they’re animations.” Eve clarifies, embarrassed and realising too late that she is not helping herself as Villanelle smiles even wider. “You know what, it’s fine, I was a kid! Kids love Disney.”

“Kids.” Villanelle nods, trying to clamp her smile. “Okay. Did you go see Frozen 2 at the cinema?” 

Eve purses her lips and looks away. 

It’s clearly enough of an answer for Villanelle, who throws her head back and laughs.

She’s still laughing when Eve looks back at her. 

Her long neck stretched, golden hair falling in waves, eyes squeezed shut with lashes fanned across the tops of her cheeks. 

Eve wonders if Villanelle’s skin is soft, if she uses fancy moisturiser to keep it clear and bright. She wonders if Villanelle uses expensive shampoo that smells like exotic fruits or tropical flowers to give her hair that shine. She wonders what Villanelle’s dressing table looks like, or her vanity or bathroom shelf or wherever she keeps all of her luxurious creams and serums looks like, wonders how long Villanelle takes to look this good, or if she even needs to try because something tells Eve that her beauty is natural, and-

Eve’s doing it again. Thinking… things.

She cuts off those thoughts, then cuts off Villanelle’s laughter with a purposefully dramatic huff. 

“Whatever, it was a great movie, okay?”

Villanelle starts laughing all over again. 

——

“So, are  _ you _ married?”

Eve can’t help but ask it. 

They’ve been talking for an hour, their meals long since cleared away and replaced with desserts Villanelle insisted on them getting. Eve had a slice of chocolate cappuccino cheesecake that can only be described as decadent, and Villanelle had a small pile of profiteroles absolutely drenched in chocolate sauce. 

Eve had watched as Villanelle licked the chocolate from her fingers, thoroughly, not missing a drop. 

But now the plates are gone and another glass of wine each are in their places as they talk. 

They’ve covered school, they’ve covered London, and they’ve covered Eve’s top ten Disney films much to her reluctance and Villanelle’s delight. Really she could have just said nothing, but Villanelle seemed to be enjoying herself so much that Eve decided to open herself up to teasing, just this once. 

It makes sense that they’d now move the conversation onto this sort of thing. It makes sense to Eve, anyway. Plus... she’s curious.

Villanelle chuckles, eyeing Eve over the glass of red raised to her lips. 

“Why, are you interested? Your divorce isn’t even final yet.”

Eve feels her heart skip, the tiniest fraction of a blip. 

It’s a joke. 

Villanelle is joking with Eve. There’s a flash of something in her eyes, dimples at the corners of her lips as she smirks against the glass rim, and she’s joking. Clearly. 

And yet…

And yet. 

It lands, somewhere in Eve, somewhere deep. 

It’s a joke, but it hits her, and her breathing stutters a little, lungs seizing for a millisecond before continuing on. 

_ Are you interested? _

What a question. 

A question Eve hasn’t asked herself, hasn’t even thought to ask herself, because why would she?

Why would she?

Villanelle is her solicitor, and she can count the number of times they’ve met on two hands, but they’re also friends now too. They get on, they click, they gel; something in the two of them fits together to make conversation flow and interests align. It’s amazing, finding someone that you can fall into a friendship with so quickly. 

But-

_ Are you interested? _

That’s… that’s a whole other thing. A thing that hasn’t even crossed Eve’s mind until this very second, this very moment while sat across from the woman in question. 

_ Interested? _

Is she?

Fuck. 

Joke. A joke. It’s a joke. 

Make a joke. 

“You got me.” Eve manages to say in a sarcastic, airy tone. “This has all been a ploy to get close to you. There is no Niko. My name isn’t even Eve.”

Villanelle looks delighted that Eve is playing along, and  _ god _ does it help alleviate some of the tension in Eve. She somehow pushes most of it away and throws herself into the moment instead, the wine and the conversation and the surrounding restaurant. She feels the panic start to shift to the back. 

“Oh my god, I knew it.” Villanelle stage whispers. “So, tell me, what  _ is _ your name?”

A pause. 

“Dawn.”

Another pause. 

“Dawn.” Villanelle repeats. “As in, the opposite of Eve.”

“Yes. I am very clever.” Eve says with complete seriousness, and for a moment it’s quiet. 

And then Villanelle laughs, a great bubbling thing, and it’s loud and open and people stare from the tables next to them but Eve doesn’t care. 

“You are funny, Eve.” Villanelle says with a sigh as her laughter winds down. “I like that.”

“I’m glad you think so. Bill is the only other person that appreciates my great sense of humour.”

“Then everyone else is an idiot.” Villanelle says with a casual shrug. “Speaking of, has Bill mentioned anything about you staying with him again?”

Bill had mentioned it. Bill had told Eve again that she can stay with them whenever she needs to escape, to get away, to ‘recharge from the soul sucker’ as he’d put it last time, but Eve can’t. She’s finding it harder and harder to stay at home, but staying with Bill is not an option for Eve anymore. 

It’s not that she doesn’t like Bill, or Keiko, or baby Aubrey, not at all. She loves them all dearly, which is exactly why she can’t keep staying. 

She can’t keep intruding on family life just because her own is falling apart. 

“I’m not staying with him.” Eve says into her wine before taking a sip. 

Villanelle’s brow is furrowed a little when Eve puts her glass back down. 

“Eve, you cannot keep staying in a hotel. What about other friends?”

“I, uh…” Eve starts and stops, fiddles with the stem of the glass. “I don’t really have any other friends. No time, really. Plus, Niko.”

Eve sees a muscle twitch in Villanelle’s jaw. It stops Eve from hurrying to defend herself, to defend Niko, like she normally would, so she just leaves it there in the open. 

“Did he not let you have friends?”

“Oh, no, no,” Eve hurries to correct herself, “I don’t mean that. I just mean that he was always so angry about my lateness that I spent pretty much every spare moment, that I wasn’t avoiding him at work, trying to make him feel attended to. Not that that ever worked…” 

Eve trails off, feeling embarrassed, but she’s distracted by the tensing of Villanelle’s fingers on the tabletop and then the immediate relaxing of them. Villanelle’s clear agitation makes Eve feel a little more justified, and she feels her embarrassment lessen. 

“Well, you have me now. I am your friend.”

Villanelle says it with a strong voice and Eve looks at her, really looks at her, and sees nothing but honesty and determination on Villanelle’s face as the blonde stares back. 

The attention warms Eve, the confirmation of friendship curving her lips into a smile. 

_ Are you interested? _

Eve swallows more wine. 

“Thanks, Villanelle.” Eve says quietly, and Villanelle nods once as if sealing some kind of deal. 

“We are friends, and friends help each other.” She says, brow still furrowed as she stares at Eve for a moment. “So I am going to help you.”

“Help me how?” Eve asks, curious. Villanelle looks away from Eve to somewhere over her shoulder, gesturing with one hand to a waiter. 

When she looks back at Eve she’s smiling, confident and calm. 

“Stay with me.”

It’s not what Eve was expecting. 

“Huh?” She says dumbly, and Villanelle shrugs. 

“Stay with me. You need somewhere to stay and I have somewhere.”

Eve is already shaking her head before the blonde has finished speaking. 

“No, Vil, I absolutely cannot do that.” 

Villanelle scrunches her nose up. 

“Why not?”

“Because…” Eve flounders a bit before finding the right reason. “Because I’m your client! Surely it’s not allowed.”

“Oh, you won’t be staying in my actual house, Eve.” Villanelle explains with a wave of her hand. “You’ll stay in my annex, so it’ll be like your own little home. There is no issue with that. Besides, that’s my fee you’re spending on a hotel, so really I only have my own best interests at heart.”

Villanelle winks, but Eve is too surprised to react.

“You have a house with an annex? In  _ London _ ?”

“That is the part you are focusing on?”

“I mean,” Eve shrugs, then throws a hand up, “no, you know what, you’re right. You’re a fancy lawyer, of course you do.”

Villanelle smiles proudly, and Eve sighs in defeat. 

Is there any harm in it? In staying in a mini home owned by Villanelle? If the blonde says there’s no problem in terms of divorce case interference then it must be fine. Eve trusts her. 

But does Eve trust herself?

Christ, this dinner has been a lot. 

She looks at Villanelle who looks right back at her, eyebrows raised expectantly and fingers drumming gently against the table. 

And god, she’s so pretty. 

Fuck. 

Eve hasn’t had a crush since her mid twenties. Is that what this is? A crush? It makes sense once Eve adds everything up, when she considers her own interest in Villanelle’s story and the admiration and the  _ constant _ acknowledgement of how attractive the other woman is. 

_ Fuck _ . 

She definitely shouldn’t stay with her. 

But, but being attracted to another person isn’t really a problem in the grand scheme of things. It’s just a thing, a feeling, a temporary feeling, and really, who  _ wouldn’t _ have a crush on Villanelle? Eve is sure every person who meets the other woman must want her in some way. 

That helps. That helps Eve get a handle on her thoughts, her panic, her… gay panic? Because she’s right. Of course she’s right. A crush isn’t a big deal. It’s really not a big deal. 

She sighs. It’s only partly for show.

“One night. And I’m paying for dinner.” Eve says, and Villanelle grins before biting her lips together in what looks like an effort to not smile too wide. 

“Sure. One night.” Villanelle replies with what Eve swears is forced in its casualness. 

Eve nods, and finishes her wine. 

Not a big deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of y’all called it!!


	10. Just once

Villanelle has made many decisions in her life. 

She’s a solicitor, so she kind of has to. It is in her job description. 

She has made big decisions, like moving from Russia to the UK, like leaving corporate law to go into family law, like dragging Hugo with her wherever she goes. 

She has made small decisions, like deciding Thursday should be takeout night, like getting a black car instead of a silver one, like putting on today’s red silk shirt. 

She is very good at decisions, and is confident she almost always makes the right one. 

Right now, though, she is not so sure. 

The decision to invite Eve to stay at hers seemed good at the time, but now, stood in her kitchen as she waits for Eve to arrive from her hotel after collecting her stuff, Villanelle is doubting herself. 

She has had time to think since first recognising her attraction to Eve. 

Not a lot of time, because she is a very busy woman, but she’s had time. 

Villanelle knew from the first moment she saw Eve that the brunette is the exact type of woman Villanelle would try to pick up in a bar. Thick curly hair, dark eyes, petite stature; Eve is her  _ exact _ type. 

But over the course of their meetings, and now drinks and dinner, Villanelle has found more that draws her in deeper. The fire in Eve’s eyes she noticed pretty soon after meeting her, and then the passion and curiosity and humour followed after, trickling in one by one until Eve wasn’t just a hot client, but a hot client with wit and intelligence and a ridiculous appetite for someone so small, and-

Villanelle pours herself a glass of water and downs it in three large gulps. 

This is exactly why Villanelle doesn’t allow herself to get to know people. She picks up women in bars or wherever, fucks them, says thank you and leaves, and it’s fine. They have fun, she has fun, and that’s the end of it. She doesn’t get to know them or ask them about their  _ childhood pets _ , because then she’d be risking… developments.

Not good. 

Villanelle drinks more water. 

The joke she’d made at dinner about Eve being interested in her had clearly struck something within the other woman. Villanelle had watched as Eve froze for half a second before joking back, but Villanelle had seen it. 

What did it mean?

She had either made Eve feel uncomfortable or sparked something new, and she has a feeling that it might be the latter.

Well. She knows it’s the latter. It’s obviously.

But.

But she will not allow herself to  _ hope _ it’s the latter, because… because that is messy, and Villanelle does not like mess. A mess of divorce and professional boundaries that is not worth the risk, despite how good the sex would probably be. 

And Villanelle can just  _ tell _ it would be good, which does not help with how much she now finds herself wanting it.

Villanelle is not used to not getting what she wants.

She dumps the empty glass in the sink slightly too hard, the clang of glass on metal echoing a little in the room.

Villanelle revisits her large hunch that something in Eve is interested in Villanelle, beyond the normal type of interest. The way Eve takes her in, looks her over every time they meet before quickly looking away, says something at least. Villanelle knows that she is attractive, has used it to her advantage before, takes pride in looking good, and she thinks that maybe Eve is a little startled by her own interest.

As far as Villanelle knows, Eve is straight, so she can see why appreciating Villanelle’s looks would make Eve a little nervous.

It makes Villanelle feel good.

And so what if she wore her best red shirt today, the one that opens to reveal enough cleavage to be tempting but not enough to be unprofessional, just to look nice for Eve? It is not a crime to want to look good for someone you want, to see their reaction, to see if they want you too.

Villanelle sighs.

She is not helping herself and she knows it.

Her phone buzzes.

_ Eve: I’m outside, which one is yours? _

Villanelle: Two grey doors, vines on the railings. 

Villanelle has made many decisions in her life.

_ Eve: Jesus christ you live in a romcom movie house!  _

She just hopes that this doesn’t turn out to be a bad one.

——

“And this is where you’ll be staying.”

Villanelle sweeps her arm out in the doorway to the small annex at the bottom of her narrow garden, showing Eve to her room for the night.

The space is like a studio apartment, with a double bed, stylish wooden furniture and a plush sofa by a bookshelf taking up most of the space, and a small kitchenette making up the far corner, complete with oven, hob, fridge, and counter space. Part of the space is walled off and behind it sits an en suite, finishing her mini holiday home that doesn’t get to see many visitors. 

“Oh my god, this is gorgeous.” Eve says slowly, obviously impressed, and Villanelle beams. 

“Thank you, I designed it myself.”

“You did?”

Villanelle nods happily. 

“I wanted somewhere for friends to stay if they came to visit. Plus, I needed a summer project last year.”

“Well, it’s amazing.” 

Eve is slowly walking around the space, taking everything in as Villanelle watches her. She trails fingertips over the wood of the bedside table, over the cotton of the bedsheets, then turns to smile at Villanelle. 

“Thank you.” Eve says, sincere. “This is… too nice of you.”

“Pssh, do not worry about it.” Villanelle smiles. “You can stay for as long as you need.”

“Just tonight.” Eve replies quickly, looking around at the space again. “I’ll, uh… I’ll work something else out for after that.”

Villanelle sighs, but knows she can’t force Eve to do anything. 

No one has stayed in the annex for eight months, not since her uncle and law partner Konstantin had stayed with his family while their house was being renovated, so it really is no hassle having Eve stay. But, she imagines that maybe it is a pride thing, so she will leave it at that.

But it would be nice, having someone around. Especially if that someone is Eve.

“Okay, well, for however long you do stay,” Eve rolls her eyes at Villanelle, who continues with a small shrug, “you have free reign to everything here. Stock the fridge, cook meals, whatever you want.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Eve says firmly, “but thank you, Villanelle.”

The blonde smiles, and for a moment they just look at each other before Eve shuffles a little and looks away. As Eve opens her mouth to speak, no doubt to excuse herself for the night, Villanelle once again does not help herself by asking “Do you want to come into the house and watch a movie?”

There’s a pause and Eve’s eyes dart away for half a second before they’re back, and she’s smiling. 

“Sure.” Eve agrees. “Do you have more wine?”

There’s a flutter of something in Villanelle’s chest that she isn’t familiar with, warm and light, and it doubles when Eve’s grin widens as Villanelle nods yes. 

She isn’t familiar with it, but she likes it. It feels nice. Like… excitement, but softer.

As they walk back across the garden and into the house, Villanelle heads into the kitchen to get wine and glasses while pointing Eve to the TV. 

“Choose something on Netflix while I get snacks.”

“We literally ate like half an hour ago.” Eve half shouts back from across the large open plan room. 

“Are you telling me you don’t want snacks?”

There’s silence for a moment. 

“I want snacks.”

Villanelle grins. 

“Crocodile.”

“I am not a crocodile! I have a healthy appetite.”

——

Eve has chosen Twilight. 

Villanelle stands frozen in place on her way through the room, staring between the large wall mounted TV and Eve, who has already cosied herself up in the corner of Villanelle’s sofa. 

“Twilight?”

“Don’t judge.” Eve says firmly. “I’m not in the mood to pay attention and this is easy viewing, okay?”

“Okay.” Villanelle shrugs with wide eyes, staring a little pointedly at Eve before sitting at the other end of the couch, placing wine and glasses down then dropping the crisps clamped under her arm. “But I will choose next time.”

“Next time?”

Hm. 

Villanelle has never had to think about these sorts of interactions before. 

“Yes.” She says eventually, hoping the pause didn’t last too long. “We are friends. Friends watch movies.”

Eve stares at her for a second with that focused look again, then looks back at the TV. 

The more Villanelle sees that look, the larger her hunch that Eve is interested in her grows. A confused sort of interest, but definitely interest, an interest that encourages the animal part of Villanelle to get ready to hunt. 

And once again, it does not  _ help anything _ . 

Because what if Villanelle could coax that interest out? Make Eve comfortable with the feeling, more confident with it? Confident in a way that would have Eve flirting, suggestive, blushing beneath Villanelle’s gaze, and then they could watch each other across the couch, getting closer and closer, so close Villanelle can smell the perfume on Eve’s skin, and they could-

Eve rolls her head to each side, exposing her neck, and Villanelle really does try to just watch the shitty movie but Eve is right there, skin on display and cheeks the tiniest bit flushed from the wine and the warmth of the room, and Villanelle wants to have sex with Eve, she wants it, she  _ wants _ it-

A loud noise from the speakers startles Villanelle out of her thoughts. 

No. They cannot sleep together. Not only is it incredibly unprofessional, but it could very easily lose Eve the case and lose Villanelle her job. Jesus, Villanelle barely even  _ knows _ Eve. 

Not that that has ever been a problem before. 

Villanelle tilts her head back slightly and closes her eyes, trying for a few deep yet quiet breaths. This is getting distracting, and Villanelle does not work well when she is distracted. She is an incredible solicitor, highly paid and sought after, and can have almost any woman she wants, none of which would jeopardise her career.

It is how she has existed for years. She has all she needs, all she could want. 

And yet. 

Is it the forbidden fruit aspect that makes Eve so enticing? Is that all this is? Villanelle wanting what she can’t have?

She chances a glance back at Eve-

and catches the woman looking right back at her. 

Eve smiles quickly, awkwardly, like someone caught with their hand in the cookie jar, then turns back to the film. 

And Villanelle can tell from the tense muscles in Eve’s jaw that the woman is trying her absolutely hardest to appear like she’s invested in the movie playing, but Villanelle can see through it. 

Eve was watching her, too. 

Maybe… maybe they could have sex just once. Just one fuck, once, one amazing night of touching and kissing and tasting and teaching Eve how to please a woman. One night of nails digging into skin, a night of sweat, hot breath and eyes rolling back and the feel of each other, wet, over and over and over. 

One night. One night wouldn’t be so bad, right? To get it out of her system.  _ Their _ systems. Their systems, because Eve wants this too, Villanelle can tell, she just has to… has to get solid evidence. She has to view it like a case. 

A case. 

Villanelle swallows heavily as she remembers, yet again, what that one night could do to her career if Eve was to mention it while this divorce is happening. 

Villanelle can have  _ anyone _ else. Eve is off limits. 

She cannot have Eve.

But… maybe she can. Maybe just once. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to song4everystory for picking Twilight when I asked her to choose a casual film on Netflix!!!! I’m not even sure how many twilight films there are! Four?? I’ve seen two, once each!


	11. Fuck Bella

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soz for the delay, a bit sad atm so not writing as much. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Sitting here in Villanelle’s home, on Villanelle’s comfortable sofa, watching Villanelle’s massive TV while sat next to Villanelle herself, Eve lets herself consider the following:

  1. Twilight movies are still bad.
  2. This wine is very tasty.
  3. She has a crush on her solicitor, who is also a woman.



So far, Eve has managed to come up with a solution to each of these:

  1. Don’t choose to watch them ever again.
  2. Ask where the wine is from and cross fingers that it doesn’t cost a small fortune.



Okay, she has no solution to 3.

Except for panic.

But that’s not a solution, that’s just an unhelpful response caused by Eve putting together the facts. Those being that she wants to touch Villanelle’s hair and stare at Villanelle’s face and kiss Villanelle’s lips and oh my  _ god _ Villanelle is her solicitor and also a  _ woman _ ?

Jesus, she can’t believe she’s thinking this shit without combusting. What the  _ fuck _ . Eve is attracted to a woman and wants to… pursue that? This is startling new and, and… different.

It’s just… a lot? It’s a lot.

She feels like she’s been going back and forth over this for days now, and it would be getting boring and repetitive if it wasn’t so… so…

Eve doesn’t have the right word for it.

She has found women attractive before, of course. What woman hasn’t? But never has Eve wanted to act on any of those attractions. She can appreciate the intelligence someone has and the shape of someone’s butt, but has never wanted to seduce those people or... cup those butts.

The sudden realisation that this train of thought has led to Eve admitting she wants to physically… do stuff with Villanelle, is a bit shocking, but good once it’s been said. Or, thought. It’s freeing. It’s absolutely not allowed to happen, but it’s so goddamn good to be able to categorise these jumbled feelings with her internal label maker.

Eve wants to kiss Villanelle. She wants to kiss her all over her gorgeous, smart face. 

God, how terrifying.

Eve shifts on the sofa in an attempt to also shift her thoughts, but it doesn’t work. It’s like now that she’s acknowledged she wants to act on the crush, it’s all she can focus on.

And she really needs to start calling it something other than ‘crush’, she’s not a teenager.

But for now, for now Eve will try to pay attention to this terrible movie and engage her friend, her  _ solicitor _ , in some casual conversation.

“Fuck, marry, kill: Edward, Jacob, Bella.”

Okay. When Eve is alone, she’s going to have a serious talk with herself about what counts as ‘casual conversation’, and not ‘conversation that has sexual undertones you are trying to avoid’.

Villanelle hums thoughtfully from her spot, sipping her wine leisurely.

“That is tricky, because they are all awful.” Eve snorts at Villanelle’s words, said so seriously, and the blonde glares playfully at her. She mimes zipping her lips shut, and Villanelle continues. “I think… Fuck Bella, Marry Jacob, Kill Edward.”

Eve tries to ignore the hiccuping excitement in her stomach at ‘fuck Bella’.

“Why?” Eve asks before shoving a handful of crisps into her mouth, as if that will somehow mask any reaction she may have to the answer.

“Well I would kill Edward because he is pointless, and I already have enough sparkly things.” Eve nods as if this makes total sense, which to Villanelle it seems to. “I’d marry Jacob because if he was in love with me then I could get him to go into wolf mode and tear out the throats of my enemies. And I could take him running with me.”

“That’s… okay, fair enough.” Eve says, swallowing the crisps. She’s part excited and part dreading the next answer. “And Bella?”

“Well, fuck Bella because I am a lesbian, so if I’m going to be fucking any of them I’d like it to be the woman. I won’t need to fuck Jacob if we’re married, because… well, a lot of married people don’t do that.”

It’s-

Villanelle is a lesbian.

Eve is… how is it possible to be delighted and  _ terrified _ in one single moment.

“You’re, you’re a, um… gay?”

Villanelle scoffs a laugh and looks at Eve like she’s lost it, which may well be true right now.

“Yes, I am ‘a gay’. Is that… is that okay with you? You seem-”

“Oh, my god, yes,” Eve hurries to interrupt Villanelle, although she instantly regrets how fucking desperate she sounds in her word choice and Villanelle is staring at her with one brow raised now and- “I mean, of course it’s okay. I have no issues. No one should. You do you, boo.”

Eve has never said boo in her life. 

She just about stops from face palming herself and it looks like Villanelle can tell if the amused quirk of her lips is anything to go by.

“Okay, good.” The blonde says, reaching to place her wine glass back on the table then focusing all of her attention on Eve. “What about you?”

Eve feels her lungs tighten, feels her limbs go cold.

“What… what do you mean?” Her voice sounds shaky in her own ears, and Villanelle tilts her head.

“Fuck, marry, kill. Your turn.” She says. “The same characters.”

Eve just about passes out from the rush as her lungs and heart kick back into action

“Oh, right, um…” Eve wills her voice to stay steady. “I guess… I guess kill Jacob,” Villanelle gasps in mock hurt, “marry Edward, and, um, fuck Bella.”

Villanelle hums in thought.

“Why?”

Eve feels an uncomfortable flush creep up her neck. She wishes she could be more relaxed with this, more laid back, but she has literally realised that she wants to… get physical with a woman, like.. just _ minutes _ ago, and being chill about it is out of the question right now.

But she’d started the damn thing, so she’d sure as hell try to finish it.

“Well, Jacob would have to go because wet dog smell is the worst,” Eve starts, and Villanelle’s laughter helps loosen the grip around her chest the tiniest bit, “I’d marry Edward because he’s protective… not that I need protecting, but it would be nice to be married to someone who fights battles  _ with _ me rather than  _ against _ me for once…” Eve knows she sounds bitter, and the furrowed brow on Villanelle tells Eve she feels the same way.

But Eve stops there.

Villanelle looks at her with a gentle expectancy, but Eve can’t make anymore words leave her throat, her mouth now dry.

“And Bella?”

Eve swallows hard.

“And Bella.” She nods.

They sit in near silence for exactly three seconds, the sounds of a fight scene on screen there but not penetrating this atmosphere Eve feels surrounding them.

And then Villanelle smiles.

“Okay.” She says. Then she rubs her crisp-greasy fingers on her joggers that she must’ve changed into before Eve arrived, and stands. “I’m going to the bathroom, please do not pause it, I really do not care if I miss any.”

It’s funny, and Villanelle has said it in a light and teasing tone, but Eve can only smile silently.

And then Villanelle is gone.

Eve would be an idiot not to realise that Villanelle left so that Eve could have a moment alone.

That thought fills Eve with warmth, but scares the hell out of her too.

God, this night has been  _ full _ of contrasting emotions and Eve is  _ tired _ .

Villanelle must have sensed Eve’s discomfort, which means Eve was making it pretty obvious that she was having a moment of serious gay panic, and now… and now Villanelle  _ knows _ Eve was… gay panicking? 

What will she think? Will Villanelle bring it up again when she comes back from the bathroom? Eve isn’t ready to talk about it with anyone yet, hell, she’s not entirely sure she’s even ready to talk to  _ herself _ about it yet, but she will. Later, tucked up in bed for the night, Eve will think about it and what it means.

She’s sure the answer will be ‘nothing, it means absolutely nothing’, because it’s not like it changes Eve at all, but still, she would just like to go through it all with herself. For her brain’s sake.

Eve realises with a slow, waking feeling that the movie is still playing. This stupid movie with its stupid characters making Eve ask stupid, immature questions.

Except, except this hasn’t been stupid. Villanelle shared something with Eve, a personal thing, and Eve appreciates that. She appreciates sharing and honesty in friendships, so she’s happy that Villanelle felt she was able to tell her.

Not that Villanelle seems the type of person to keep that sort of thing private. The woman lives out loud, and Eve just happened to ask the right question.

But still. It’s nice.

And not to mention, exciting.

Villanelle likes women.  _ Likes _ likes them. Maybe she could like Eve. They could like each other. They could like each other together. Eve’s chances just grew a little and it’s thrilling to know that maybe, maybe, if she was Villanelle’s type like Villanelle seems to be Eve’s, they could… well, they could-

What the hell is she thinking?

They absolutely  _ cannot _ .

They have a case to put forward, Eve has a divorce to settle and Villanelle has a job to protect. It wouldn’t matter if they both wanted nothing more than to tear each other’s clothes off, they  _ can’t _ . 

That feeling of excitement is slowly fading, leaving disappointment in its place, thick and heavy, and Eve sighs.

Typical. The first time she’s genuinely attracted to someone in five years (because the last time she found Niko sexy was back in their thirties for sure), and she can’t do anything about it.

She’s getting divorced, and she can’t do anything about it.

But…

But what about after?

Eve jumps when a door opens down the hallway, and seconds later Villanelle is back, smiling at Eve as she drops back down onto the sofa.

“How much is left of this movie?” Villanelle asks as she pours more wine into her glass, and Eve indicates with a nod that she’d like more too.

“Like 45 minutes?” 

“Ugh,” Villanelle drops her head back dramatically, and Eve laughs, because it feels normal again, the tension Eve had created with her own anxiety dissolving as Villanelle acts how she always acts when she’s relaxed. “This film is so  _ boring _ .”

“It’s okay, we can change it if you-”

“No!” Villanelle says quickly, and Eve smirks. The blonde frowns at her sulkily. “No, we might as well watch the end if we are over halfway through. Besides, I want to see if Jacob turns into a wolf and kills Edward.”

“Wait, have you never seen Twilight before?” Eve asks, mouth dropping open.

Villanelle shrugs.

“No? But I do not think that is a bad thing, Eve.”

“You’re right.” Eve says with a nod. “Now be quiet and watch, or you’ll miss the story which I know you’re secretly enjoying.”

Villanelle slumps down and folds her arms.

“I am not enjoying it.” She mumbles, chin pressed into her chest and feet propped up on the coffee table, but she fixes her eyes to the screen anyway.

Eve watches her, the way she sucks her bottom lip into her mouth in concentration, the way her brows pinch together when the characters talk, the way she focuses on their words while maybe doing super speed translations in her head to follow what’s happening.

The intelligent, beautiful, successful, funny, and generous Villanelle is also downright adorable.

Of course she is.

Eve sighs quietly, resigned to this losing battle.

Oh well.

She doesn’t want to win anyway.

——

“Jesus, it’s almost midnight.” Eve says, checking her watch. “I need to sleep, I’ve got work tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Villanelle stretches on the sofa, all long limbs and taught muscles. “Let me get the lights for you.”

They both walk to the back door and Villanelle flicks the lights on, illuminating the garden and showing Eve the path to her room for the night.

“Oh, take this.” Villanelle grabs something from the kitchen counter and drops it into Eve’s hand. “It’s the key, so you can get into the house in the morning.”

“Thanks.” Eve asks, fingers curling around the key with a fluffy pink pom pom keyring attached. “So, I guess I’ll… see you tomorrow?”

Villanelle smiles.

“See you tomorrow.” She nods.

They look at each other for a second, and Eve feels like something is tying them together, stopping either from turning, and it thrills her to think that maybe Villanelle feels it too. The other woman is watching her carefully, and her tongue darts out quickly to swipe at her bottom lip.

Eve watches it.

She feels hot, all of a sudden, too hot in her casual tee and jeans, the air thick around them and pressing, pressing.

It feels…  _ still _ . Like the world has paused.

She wants to reach forward, wants to touch some part of the blonde, maybe the smooth skin of her forearm or the slope of her shoulder, but she curls her fingers into her own palm instead.

Stepping back feels like pushing against a physical force.

“Okay. Goodnight.” Eve says eventually. Does she sound out of breath? She feels it.

“Goodnight, Eve.” Villanelle says quietly.

God, Villanelle just  _ glows _ in the low lighting. 

When Eve turns to the door and opens it, she swears she feels something touch her back. Near where her curls end, a soft brush, so soft she could have imagined it. 

She doesn't want to turn around to find that she’s wrong, that Villanelle has already walked away to her own room and that it really was just a phantom touch conjured up by Eve’s suddenly desperate mind.

Never has she gone from realisation of attraction to realisation of infatuation as quickly as this.

Eve shakes her head at herself as she walks down the path. This is… difficult. And tricky. And, and hard. What is she supposed to do with this shit? How is she supposed to get through a divorce while totally smitten with her fucking  _ lawyer _ ? And what is she supposed to do with the fact that there could be a chance, a tiny chance that Villanelle might feel the same way too?

Eve hears the click of a lock from the back door behind her.

Villanelle hadn’t walked away after all.

So that means… that means Eve might not have imagined that touch.

Eve lets herself into the small wooden hut, then leans back against the closed doors. She blows out a long breath in some poor attempt at calming herself, slowing her thrumming heartbeat and fluttering pulse.

She needs to get a handle on this before she does something reckless.

But Eve knows full well she’s always been a little reckless. Niko may have smothered that quality in her but it’s still there, that love for rule breaking, that need for rebelling, that wildness.

As she climbs into bed, sheets wonderfully soft against her heated skin, she realises that this entire damn situation is reckless. Eve is already toeing the line as it is, and unless she gets back in control of herself then this could end up bad for both of them.

She closes her eyes, and sees bright hazel blinking back at her.

_ Fuck _ .

Stupid Twilight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back touches = flirting?


	12. Violets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teeeeny bit of nsfw at the beginning xoxo

Villanelle shouldn’t. 

She really shouldn’t. 

She shouldn’t be doing this. 

She should  _ stop _ doing this. 

But it is not her fault. 

It is not her fault that she started doing something natural,  _ completely _ natural and fun and good, and someone popped into her usual thought rotation. 

Someone being Eve, appearing in Villanelle’s hazy mind as she pushes two long fingers inside of herself. 

And she really does try to nudge her out of her fantasies. 

Well, sort of. A little bit. 

Not really. 

She shouldn’t be doing this.

She should  _ stop _ doing this. 

But she is absolutely not going to.

Villanelle drags her fingers out and swirls them around her clit, her breath coming in sharp pants and her back arching as she pictures Eve, Eve touching her and Eve nipping her neck and Eve gasping at the feel of just how wet Villanelle is. 

She could bury her hands in those dark curls and tug, tug until Eve moans because Villanelle can tell Eve would like that, would like having her hair pulled, and Villanelle could show her what to do, could guide her hand to where Villanelle needs it, could encourage Eve with breathy moans and dirty words until she-

“Fuck.” Villanelle whispers as she comes down, fingers tacky with herself as her hand stays nestled between her thighs, breathing returning to normal, pulse slowing gradually beat by beat.

She lies there for a moment longer, the warm buzz only an orgasm can bring clouding her senses, until it fades and her eyes blink open. 

Villanelle’s usual fantasies involve either Selma Hayek or Natasha Lyonne, and this time was no different, but just as Selma turned to stare at her heatedly from across the courtroom, she was suddenly Eve, and the look was smouldering but shy, asking for Villanelle to come over and make a move.

Which she did, in her fantasy, because it’s hers and that is how it goes. 

She had only tried to shake Eve away once before letting it happen, and now she’s lying here, hyper aware that maybe she should have tried a bit harder. 

Villanelle thinks of Eve and her giant ugly bag and her clothes that are  _ just _ okay and her wild curls the colour of coffee and she considers, for a second, if this Eve oriented orgasm has helped alleviate the want Villanelle has for the older woman. 

Hmm. 

No. It hasn’t. 

Villanelle sighs, then stretches languidly before getting up and ready for work. 

——

She has barely been there five minutes before Hugo buzzes through. 

“Villanelle, Raymond Smith is on the line.”

She resists the urge to smack her forehead on the desk. 

“Ugh, what does he want?”

“He won’t tell  _ me _ , of course.” Hugo says bitterly. “Classic.”

Villanelle sighs as she runs her fingers through her high ponytail. 

“Fine. Put him through.”

“Good luck.”

A click sound cuts Hugo off, and Villanelle takes a deep breath before picking up the phone. 

“Office of Ms Astankova.”

“Ms Astankova, hello. It’s Raymond Smith here.”

Ugh, that lazy accent will never not irritate her. From him, it is like listening to someone pour tar. 

“Mr Smith. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You’re a lot more polite than your assistant.” Quips Raymond over the line. “Maybe time for a new one? Oh, wait, I remember. You carry him along with you like a handbag, don’t you.”

It’s a statement, not a question, and there’s not enough oxygen in the room for the steadying breath Villanelle needs to take. 

“What is it that you need, Mr Smith?”

“Please, call me Raymond.”

“I think I will stick with Mr Smith.”

The man chuckles, and Villanelle can practically see him shaking his stupid, balding head, thoroughly unconvincing cheery smile on his face. 

“Professional as ever.” He drawls. “Anyway, I am calling to let you know that I am representing Niko Polastri, who your client, Mrs Polastri, has filed for divorce against.”

Villanelle drops her forehead into her free hand. She’d been afraid of this, had a weird uneasy suspicion that Niko would be represented by Raymond. She isn’t sure why; maybe it has to do with the fact that this whole thing is a bit of a mess for her already. Raymond truly is the cherry on the cake. 

“Oh. Lovely.” She bites through a forced smile, sitting up and leaning back. She scans the ceiling, unseeing, as he chuckles again. 

“My reaction exactly.” 

It’s bullshit, of course. Villanelle has worked opposite the man enough times to know Raymond would like nothing more than to see Villanelle go down in flames. 

“I suppose I will be seeing you soon then.” She says, keeping her voice calm. 

“I suppose you will.”

The distaste for her simmers just underneath his fake, pleasant tone. She does not blame him; it must be hard to be continuously beaten by someone twenty years your junior. 

“Goodbye, Mr Smith.”

“Goodbye, Ms Astankova. And remember: all case communications must now go between the two of us.”

“Yes, thank you, I know how law works.”

He laughs, low, condescending. 

“Just checking.”

And then he hangs up. 

Villanelle squeezes the phone so hard she can imagine it fracturing apart in her hand, but instead she relaxes, lowers her arm, and carefully places the phone back in its holder. 

Then she throws her stapler at the wall. 

The intercom buzzes and Hugo’s voice fills the room. 

“Call went well then?”

——

It has been one week since the phone call. 

More importantly, it has been one week since she last saw Eve. One week since they crossed paths in the kitchen, the morning after Twilight, the morning after Villanelle couldn’t stop herself from reaching out to tug Eve’s shirt, barely managing to stop herself at the last second. 

It was pleasant. Casual. Villanelle offered juice but Eve took tea instead before dashing out the door to work, leaving nothing but the annex keys, woody perfume notes, and a hurried ‘thanks so much again, Villanelle, I owe you one’ behind as she left. 

Villanelle hasn’t needed to see or contact Eve for anything divorce related, so it has been silent on that front as she works through details as well as handling other cases. Villanelle has hovered over their message thread a few times, tempted to ask Eve if she’d like to meet for coffee, but stopped herself each time. 

And that is okay. Villanelle does not feel sad, or desperate, or anything like that. Sure, it would be nice to see Eve, but it is not like she cannot cope. It is like with any other friend; you know you will see them eventually, and that is okay. 

It helps keep a lid on the want, too. 

She is reading through some client information Hugo has forwarded her when her personal phone buzzes against the polished wood of her desk. 

_ Eve: I’m doing it. I’m doing it right now. _

Frowning in confusion, Villanelle marks her place in the forwarded document and focuses fully on her phone. She gets a soft flutter in her chest as she replies. 

Villanelle: Well hello. What?

_ Eve: The thing I’m not supposed to do that you definitely do not know about! _

Well, this is beyond her now. Leaning back in her chair, Villanelle taps the side of her phone with her thumbs while she thinks, but more buzzing interrupts her. 

_ Eve: Oh come on! When I finally understand how to ‘not’ talk about it, you forget? This was your idea! _

She suddenly gets it. 

Eve is at her home, looking for evidence of an affair. 

Villanelle rolls her eyes, because obviously Eve is texting her this despite finally understanding that they can’t have any record of this sort of conversation. Or,  _ not _ understanding, it seems. 

Unable to text back, because duh, Villanelle turns her phone to face screen down.

She is thinking. 

Thinking. 

She should not reply to Eve. 

It is not professional, or... legal. 

Eve is at home where Niko might be, looking for anything telling that could help them get Eve more out of this divorce than she’s been landed with, which Villanelle is not supposed to have any knowledge off. 

Villanelle turns back to her computer screen and finds her place before scanning a few more sentences. It is an important case, this one, with a lot of mess and conflict. It is not very straightforward, there is a lot of money and property involved, so Villanelle needs to be vigilant, she needs to-

She grabs her phone. 

Voice messages don’t appear on phone records. 

“Eve, the point of not talking about this is so there is no record of this, so what are you doing  _ texting _ it to me?” Villanelle laughs and shakes her head. “And if you’re going to reply to this, please send a voice message.”

Villanelle sees the voice note change to ‘seen’ almost immediately. 

“Shoot, sorry! Sorry. I wasn’t thinking, I swear I do get it, I just got excited.”

Villanelle smiles at the reply, at the sound of Eve’s whisper. 

She holds down the record button. 

“It’s fine, just… be careful. How long have you been looking?”

“I just got here.” Eve hisses. “I’m starting in the living room... Jesus, he’s tidy.”

Villanelle huffs a quiet laugh before replying.

“Okay. Is he there?”

“No, I’m alone.” Eve whispers in her message.

“Then why are you whispering?”

“Oh. I don’t know. I got caught in the moment.”

Villanelle laughs properly this time. The information on her desktop screen is a lost cause at this point, the words jumbling together as Villanelle stares through the pixels, waiting for Eve to send another message. 

“Right, I’m looking, I’m looking... What do I even look for? I- ouch! Fucking… coffee table, god damn.”

“Don’t break anything.” Villanelle chuckles. “He might use it against you in court.”

“He would.” Eve’s grumble makes Villanelle smile wider. “Okay, I don’t see anything out of the ordinary here. Seriously, what am I even looking for? Also, it’s super weird talking but getting no reply until half a minute  _ after _ I’ve finished talking. I feel like I could just keep going. How long should a voice message even be?”

Villanelle rolls her chair over to the window as she laughs again. The sun is just starting to dip behind the taller London buildings, filling her office with a fractured orange glow.

“They can be however long you want, Eve, but please focus. You want to look for anything out of place, and maybe have a look through places you wouldn’t normally look. But,” Villanelle hurries on, “they have to be places you wouldn’t get in trouble for looking in, like a laundry basket, or his wash bag, stuff like that. Do not go looking through anything password protected or locked, whatever you do.”

There’s a longer pause between sending her message and receiving Eve’s this time, and Villanelle fills it staring out across the city skyline. Lights flicker off and on in faraway windows, and Villanelle wonders in which direction Eve’s house is.

“Sorry, um… I’m in our- his… the bedroom. I found something.”

Villanelle’s spine straightens with a mix of excitement and concern.

“What did you find? Are you okay?”

“It’s… I can’t believe I’m... it’s a bra. It’s not mine. It’s… Villanelle, it’s huge.”

“Okay. Hey, it’s okay.” Villanelle replies calmly. “Where did you find it? You should take a photo of it with your phone, but then take it with you because we will need it. Are you certain it is not yours?”

Eve’s reply is quick.

“Unless my boobs were once DD’s and I somehow forgot? Yeah, I’m certain. I’ve put it in my bag. Fuck… this is- I didn’t… I didn’t actually think I’d find anything.”

Eve’s voice is shaky in the recording, a barely controlled wavering of sadness or anger, Villanelle isn’t sure.

She chews her lip nervously. 

“Eve, I am sorry.” Villanelle says before pausing for a moment. “Look, you need to concentrate. Just for a bit longer, and then you can… I don’t know,  _ react _ . Where did you find the bra?”

“It was under the wardrobe. I got down to look under the bed and saw it... god it’s so  _ twee _ , it’s like a pastel pink, it’s so girly, it… oh my god. Oh my  _ god _ ... It’s Gemma’s isn’t it. That bitch. That  _ bitch _ !”

Oh boy.

Villanelle snaps into solicitor mode.

“Okay. I am sorry to be so blunt but there is time for that later. Keep looking.”

The waiting game is a lot less comfortable this time around, and when Eve finally does reply Villanelle’s lip is sore from her anxious biting.

“I am. I just- I don’t know how I didn’t notice that he was... I know I work a lot but… but this is the kind of thing a wife should notice, isn’t it? Was I a bad- Jesus, I can’t believe he’d do this. I didn’t realise he hated me to this level. Why didn’t he just leave? God, what an asshole. How  _ could _ he? I… I’m not sure I can… I don’t know.”

Villanelle sighs heavily. Despite the issues between Eve and Niko, there’s no way this is easy for Eve to discover. She wishes she was there, wishes she was there to help, to talk Eve down or to get wound up in her outrage with her or, or something, not just sitting here useless in this chair, staring at London as it slips into dusk.

“Eve, remember why you’re doing this. Remember what you’ve been through, what he has put you through. Don’t forget. Just… just leave now, if this is too hard. We can work with what you have, just leave.”

Shutting off her computer and pocketing her work mobile as she waits, Villanelle sets her mind on thinking about arranging to see Eve, to go through what Eve has found, to comfort her, maybe. Her phone buzzes as she packs her briefcase.

“The pillows smell like violets. That’s not my perfume or shampoo. She’s been in this bed.  _ My _ bed. God I’m going to crush her stupid little-” Villanelle hears it on the recording, the faint bang, the muffled shake of something, a glass window maybe. “Fuck, he’s back, gotta go.” Eve clears her throat and raises her voice. “Nik-”

And the recorded message ends there.

Villanelle stares at her phone for a solid minute, hoping for some kind of sign that Eve hasn’t just flown at Niko, accusations thrown at him like rocks potentially shattering whatever case Villanelle might be able to build from a bra and violets, but nothing comes.

Another two minutes pass, and Hugo enters the room.

“What are you watching?”

“Hmm?” Villanelle hums, finally tearing her eyes away from her phone. She can feel the line of concern furrowed between her brows.

“You’re staring at your phone like there’s porn on there.  _ Is _ there porn on there?” Hugo gasps in mock outrage and clutches his chest. “And in the  _ office _ , Villanelle! What  _ would _ your uncle say.”

“Shut up.” Villanelle scoffs with a frown. “I am not in the mood, rat boy.”

“Ah, pulling out the old ‘rat boy’ insult ey? Something’s got you all in a tizz.”

Hugo saunters over to her desk. He leans down and rests his elbows on the wood, dropping his chin into his hands and giving Villanelle a sarcastic pout. 

“Is it because you’ve not seen your favourite soon-to-be divorcee this week?”

Villanelle tries to find a glare that sits in the right place between annoyed and defensive, but Hugo sees through her and shakes his head with a small laugh. 

“You’re gonna get yourself in trouble, blondie.” 

The glare drops from her face and she closes her eyes with a sigh. 

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Uh huh,” Hugo deadpans, “and I don’t know how to dress well.”

“You  _ don’t _ know how to dress well.” Villanelle mumbles as she opens her eyes. Hugo has straightened up and is staring down at Villanelle, one eyebrow quirked. 

“Fashion is subjective! And you love my shirts, don’t lie.”

She does.

Instead of arguing or agreeing, Villanelle sighs again, and the amused expression on Hugo’s face softens. 

“Come on, you’ve got no more meetings for the day, let’s go get a drink. We can talk all about your ill advised longing for the middle aged firecracker.”

“I am not longing for her.” Villanelle huffs as she stands up, grabbing her bag and briefcase. “She is just interesting. And she has nice hair.”

“And she’s your  _ client _ .” 

“Yes, okay, thank you.” Villanelle says snappily, but Hugo just shrugs as he leads her out of her office. 

The trip down in the elevator is quiet, Hugo checking his phone and Villanelle watching the buildings through the glass slide into view. 

“Did you know Eve is scared of heights?”

Villanelle turns to him, frowning a little. 

“What?”

“Mm,” Hugo hums distractedly, “like… seriously scared. You should see her every time she comes out of the lift, it’s like watching a baby deer take its first steps.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Villanelle asks, voice growing tight with frustration. “I could have arranged for our meetings to be… closer to the ground.”

Hugo looks up from his phone, eyes wide with bemusement. 

“Um… that’s not usually the type of information you want from me. And no, you couldn’t have, you know Konstantin wouldn’t allow that. All meetings must happen in the offices to uphold our strict and-”

“-professional image and practice, I know, I know.” Villanelle folds her arms grumpily, much to Hugo’s delight if the grin he flashes her is anything to go by. She huffs again. “You are getting the first round, rat boy.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Blondie?”

Villanelle sighs. 

“Marginally better.”

——

One drink turned into three drinks and an early dinner, and by the time Villanelle collapses onto her sofa she’s buzzed and warm and ready to do nothing at all for the rest of the evening.

But she is also hyper aware that she has heard nothing from Eve for over two hours. 

Villanelle sent a quick ‘out for dinner but text me when you can’ message to Eve an hour ago, but hasn’t received anything back. It’s not that she’s worried, exactly, she’s just… curious. Intrigued. A bit anxious? 

Okay, she is worried.

Eve is perfectly capable of handling herself, and Niko may be an arse but there’s no way he’d ever harm Eve physically. Villanelle doesn’t know why she’s nervous, but she is. 

What if he’s persuaded her not to-

No, that is stupid. 

Villanelle rolls her eyes at herself, shaking away Hugo’s taunting words of  _ ‘longing’ _ and  _ ‘pining’ _ and  _ ‘totally unprofessional but super hot so who cares _ ’ from her mind as she heads into her kitchen for some water. 

Eve is fine. She is probably at Bill’s, filling him in on new details, and she will get back to Villanelle when she has a spare moment. Just like normal friends do. It is fine. 

She’s sliding the glass into the dishwasher when her phone buzzes on the countertop. 

It’s a voice message from Eve. 

“Hey, uh… can I stay at yours again tonight? Things didn’t… go to plan. Fuck. Um, I’m already on my way, hopefully you’re home. See you soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your kind comments last week :)


	13. Medically recognised technique

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s find out what happened to Eve! Picks up straight after she sent Villanelle that final voice note...

“The pillows smell like violets. That’s not my perfume or shampoo. She’s been in this bed.  _ My _ bed. God I’m going to crush her stupid little-” Eve almost doesn’t hear it over her own voice getting louder, but she just catches the closing of the front door. “Fuck, he’s back, gotta go.” 

Eve clears her throat and lifts her finger off the record button as she calls his name. 

“Niko, hi, um, I’m here. Just so you know.”

Eve hears him grumble before he calls back up to her. 

“Alright. You could have called, first.”

Eve rolls her eyes and goes to argue that it’s still her damn house too, then realises that will get her absolutely nowhere in what she’s currently trying to achieve. 

She takes a deep breath. 

“You’re right,” she shouts down, “I’m sorry, I’ll let you know next time.” 

She’s met with silence, which she expected; agreeing that she’s in the wrong always quiets him. 

Eve glances down at her phone and sees the recorded message sat and waiting, so she sends it. She won’t be able to record anything else now Niko is home, so she pockets her phone and concentrates on the task at hand. 

She focuses again on the room. Crossing it quickly, she pulls out her seldom used suitcase from beneath the bed and opens it up, shoving underwear and random clothing into it to make it look like she’s packing should Niko come up to investigate. 

With that out of the way she turns back to the bed, to the pillows sitting innocently at the head of it. She’s spent thousands of nights on the left side of that bed, using that pillow for the last three or so years. 

How many years are you supposed to use a pillow for before throwing it out? 

Whatever. Seems like the pillow isn’t even hers anymore.

She walks over to it and leans down, sniffing the cotton cover again.

Gross. Violets. It’s so… powdery. Powdery and feminine and a little bit sickly; it’s very Gemma. Eve just about stops herself from grabbing one of her perfumes she knows is still in a drawer in the dresser and dousing the pillow in it. No evidence that she’s been scouting our clues, she reminds herself.

She does slam her fist down onto the pillow though, for good measure.

_ Okay. Keep looking. _

Villanelle has told her she can leave, but the smell of violets has reignited that fire in Eve that fuels her to destroy Niko, so she won’t stop until she finds something else, something more solid, even if she has to turn the house upside down to do it.

She puts her hands on her hips as she surveys the room. Thinking back on films and TV shows with cheating spouses, Eve tries to work out where she’s more likely to find signs of adultery.

Her eyes scan the furniture. She’s already checked under the bed and wardrobe for dropped and hidden stuff, so instead she heads over and opens the wardrobe doors. It’s full of Niko’s shirts and jackets, along with folded trousers and rarely worn ‘holiday’ clothes. Back in their first five years together, the two of them liked to take long weekend trips to a different European city every three months. Eve used to tease his long shorts, but Niko would just strike a ridiculous pose in them to make her laugh.

She feels an ache in her chest at the memory.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary amongst the clothes, and Eve figures she already got wildly lucky finding the bra deep beneath the wardrobe itself, so with a sigh she closes the doors.

She gets the same results when searching the drawers and her own wardrobe. Her dressing table gives her nothing, but she takes the pieces of makeup and jewellery she’s been missing and chucks them in the suitcase.

With a sigh, she resigns herself to the fact that she’s not going to find anything else. Niko is clearly good at covering his tracks, the bra withstanding, or she would’ve noticed something sooner. Well, she may as well actually pack the things she needs and go.

Eve finishes filling the case with her things, then heads over to the laundry basket for anything she may have missed. She rolls her eyes when she lifts the lid and finds it full. Niko may be tidy, but he sure is terrible at getting laundry done. Eve starts rooting around, pulling his shirts and underwear out to search for her own things, when she finds his ‘fancy’ shirt crumpled halfway down.

Eve frowns. Niko almost never wears his ‘fancy’ stuff unless it’s for a special occasion, which he hasn’t had any of recently. She drags out the white shirt and brings the collar slowly to her nose.

Fucking  _ violets _ .

So, Niko’s been taking Gemma somewhere that warrants his best suit. Fantastic.

Eve balls up the shirt in her hands and contemplates trying to rip it apart, but settles for snapping off a button off instead. She’s about to shove the shirt and button back into the basket when she realises that she hasn’t come across the trousers that go with it. She looks through the rest of the laundry, but they’re not there.

Not that it matters, anyway. Who cares about a white shirt that smells like his colleague? It’s probably useless as evidence, Niko’s lawyer will say she’s grasping at straws. 

Still, she wants to find the trousers anyway. Just because.

Trying her best to make it look natural, she puts the shirt back and piles clothes on top of it before replacing the lid and standing up. Eve checks the wardrobe again, meticulously going through the folded trousers, but the pair isn’t there.

She’s careful as she moves around the room, lifting things up and checking inside drawers, but the trousers are nowhere to be found. Maybe they’re in the machine downstairs, innocently swirling around and soaked in suds. It’s disappointing, but she figures that maybe she has enough at the moment for Villanelle to work with.

Picking up her suitcase, she heads to the door.

A bag catches her eye.

It’s Niko’s gym bag, half visible behind the open door, clearly tossed there as an afterthought.

Niko has been playing squash every Thursday for the past year and a half. He leaves at around 7 in the evening and is back by half 9, sometimes later if he has a drink with his squash buddies after a game. It’s easily Eve’s favourite day of the week as she gets the evening to herself.

But what if…

No. He plays squash. He goes to the sports club a few streets away, with Bob and Martin from the office.

But… maybe?

Eve drops her suitcase and closes the door quietly, then tugs the gym bag into the open. She’d offered to wash his workout clothes before, back when he first started going, but he’d told her not to, saying his stuff gets sweaty and he didn’t want her to deal with that.

Really she should’ve clocked something was up from that random act of courtesy. 

Her hands shake as she unzips the bag, a mixture of adrenaline and, annoyingly, fear causing her fingers to tremble. Try as she might, she can’t push away the sick feeling at potentially discovering the Niko has been cheating on her for not just a few weeks, but for over a year.

The bag opens, and tucked inside are… gym clothes.

Relief and disappointment flood Eve, a cocktail of contrasting emotions leaving her feeling dizzy as she reaches in to pull out the workout gear.

One touch to the joggers is all it takes for Eve to realise that they’re clean. A quick sniff of the bag gives her nothing but washing detergent, and she frowns. Maybe he’s already washed and packed them, ready for next Thursday? It would be very unlike Niko, but still entirely possible.

There are small blue squash balls in the bag too, and Niko’s sneakers, and-

Eve feels her heart in her throat.

His suit trousers.

With a shaky breath, Eve pulls the trousers out and unfurls them from their haphazard fold. They smell like the city, with a soft hint of spice, like a really good curry.

Eve has come to terms that Niko has taken Gemma out for dinner and this only confirms that further, but why are they in the gym bag? She starts to fold the trousers back up, but stops at the sound of paper crinkling. 

Her frown deepens as she feels all four of the pockets.

It seems typical that the last pocket she checks is the one with something in it, each empty pocket making anxiety creep further into her lungs until her fingers find cold paper. She breathes in deep as she pulls it out.

It’s a receipt. It’s a receipt for Benares, a fine dining Indian restaurant in London that Eve knows costs an arm and a leg.

_ Bastard _ , Eve thinks,  _ he knows how much I love Indian food. _

She gapes a little at the sheer amount of money he spent, but the shock at the price is nothing compared to the shock she feels when she sees the date on the receipt.

A Thursday, four weeks ago. Before any of this started, before that fateful night in the kitchen when Eve asked for a divorce.

Her hands shake for a different reason now. She’s holding evidence, potentially solid evidence, that Niko has been lying to her and having an affair.

The vindication she feels in this moment just about outweighs the fury bubbling away in her gut. 

Grabbing her phone, Eve takes a quick photo of the receipt and the trousers, then of the gym bag and its contents, before zipping it back up and placing it behind the door.

She heaves out a breath she didn’t know she was holding as she picks up her suitcase and makes her way out of the room.

It’s hard not to immediately scream at Niko when she walks into the kitchen. Eve pictures clawing his eyes out with her nails, which is admittedly violent, but Jesus Christ she is  _ angry _ .

He grunts in greeting at her, not looking up from his phone, as Eve places her case down by the table.

“I’m just getting more of my stuff.” Eve tells him, trying hard to keep any venom out of her voice. “Then I’ll be staying at Bill’s again.”

“Fine.” Niko says casually, and it’s clear he couldn't care less about Eve’s plans, so she shuts up and heads into the living room to collect a few of her books. Once she’s done in there, picking up some DVDs too just in case Villanelle wants to watch movies that aren’t on Netflix, she heads into her office.

The room immediately brings her comfort. She grabs some files and notebooks, some stationery too, then takes a few minutes to just look around the space. The walls are covered in her articles, her favourite ones and best ones, as well as certificates and photographs and other random bits that mean something to her. Once the divorce is over, she’ll be back in here packing it all up to take to her new place.

Imagining hanging everything up in a new office, somewhere solely hers, makes her smile.

She sits down in her trusty swivel chair and rotates slowly. If she’s honest with herself, this room is her home. Not any of the rooms out there, not the bedroom where she and Niko slept together, not the kitchen where she and Niko ate together, but this little room rammed full with her work.

A bang and a curse comes from the kitchen, breaking Eve’s bubble, and she sighs. Scooping up her things, she heads back out and finds Niko putting a pan onto the stove. He glances at her as she approaches the table.

“Want some carbonara?”

She really, really doesn’t. But getting Niko talking couldn’t hurt.

“Okay.”

——

Yeah, staying for dinner was a mistake.

“You just couldn’t resist coming back here, could you, to make me feel like the bad guy.”

Eve doesn't even know what they’re arguing about.

“No, Niko, I came back for my  _ things _ . Because I am not  _ living here _ at the moment.”

Niko scoffs and drops his fork to his empty plate with a clang.

“You’re trying to make me feel like I forced you out, like you didn't leave on your own, so you can what? Tell people that horrible Niko kicked you out?”

“Jesus Christ.” Eve moans into her hands covering her face. “I left of my own accord, I don’t understand where these accusations are coming from.”

“We know that, but what about everyone else? What are you telling people? This is all part of your plan.”

Eve removes her hands and stares at Niko, exasperated.

“What plan?!” She shouts. “Have you lost your  _ mind _ ?”

“So now you’re calling me insane?”

“Fuck, this is pointless. What am I even doing here?”

“Trying to make things harder for me, I think.”

Eve glares at him, then pushes her chair away from the table. She reaches down for her suitcase. 

“Your problem, Niko, is that you can’t see beyond your own goddamn selfishness. Everything is an attack against you, everything is being done to hurt you. Can you not allow yourself to think, even for a second, that people might be doing things for themselves?”

“You’d know all about that.” He snaps back. “You only do things for yourself.”

And holy fuck, they’ve been here a million times before, having this same argument, and he’ll never change. 

“You know what? I pity you.” Eve says, shaking her head. “Your life must be fucking miserable, constantly making yourself the victim and genuinely believing it. Does it feel lonely, Niko? To be certain everyone is out to get you?”

She turns and walks towards the door, walking quicker when she hears Niko’s chair scrape against the kitchen floor as he follows.

“I  _ am _ the victim!” Niko bellows, way too loud for only being a few feet behind Eve. “You’ve spent the last five years making me feel completely unwanted!”

Eve swings open the door and turns, staring him down with the fury she’s been trying to control. 

“You are so blind.” She says quietly. “You will  _ never _ see beyond your own feelings.”

“I wouldn’t  _ want _ to see yours.” He snarls as Eve steps backwards out of the house. “I doubt you even have any.”

Eve realises that she doesn’t need to listen to this, doesn’t need to stand here and be berated, be cajoled into throwing it back. She has her evidence, she has her things and she has her pride. It’s all she needs. 

Taking in Niko’s features, twisted with anger while she takes another step back, Eve laughs bitterly. 

“You’re a piece of work, Niko.” 

And Niko smirks. 

“Have a nice trip.”

Trip?

She realises her mistake as she starts to turn. 

Her stomach flies upwards as her foot steps backwards through thin air, a phantom step beneath her right foot, and she falls, catching a flash of Niko chuckling before turning back into the house. 

Her instincts kick in and she twists as she falls, falling hard on her hip and the side of her knee at the bottom of the stone steps, suitcase bouncing down beside her. 

Well, maybe she needs to cross pride off her list of things she’s leaving with. 

Pain radiates from the points of impact and she takes a deep breath in, blowing it out slowly through her nose as she tries to will the tears to stay behind her eyelids. 

After a few moments of breathing she feels more in control. She almost laughs when she looks up to see the front door closed. Of course he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care she might be seriously injured, he probably thinks it’s justified, some sort of karmic retribution for all the horrors she’s put him through. 

Fuck, her knee hurts. 

She’s wearing black jeans so can’t see any wounds, but she doesn’t need to see blood to know it’s already spreading on the side of her kneecap, beads welling up and soaking into the dark fabric. 

Eve pushes herself up and winces at the blossoming pain, but she picks up her suitcase and slowly sets off down the road, limping as she grits her teeth. 

She makes it a street away until she realises she has no idea where she’s going. 

A low garden wall comes into view and Eve sits on it, sighing as she takes pressure off her leg. Slipping her phone out of her pocket, Eve tries to work out where to go. There’s Bill’s… but she doesn’t feel like giving the backstory behind her injuries, doesn’t have the energy to fill him in on the last few weeks right now. 

She could stay in a hotel, but god, she just wants the company of someone that doesn’t  _ hate _ her for a little while. 

With a sigh, plus a little thrill of excitement, she records a voice message for Villanelle. 

“Hey, uh… can I stay at yours again tonight? Things didn’t… go to plan. Fuck. Um, I’m already on my way, hopefully you’re home. See you soon.”

——

The taxi ride gives Eve a chance to breathe, but soon enough they’re pulling up in front of Villanelle’s goddamn gorgeous house, and Eve is gladly accepting the Uber driver’s help dragging her suitcase up the stairs to the front door. 

He says goodbye and she stands, staring at the dark grey wood. 

Villanelle had sent her a short reply, a ‘no problem, I hope you’re okay’ sent barely a minute after Eve sent her own message, and now Eve is here at Villanelle’s front door, exhausted by the twister of emotions whipping up a storm in her stomach. Sadness and anger mixing with the pain in her leg plus the excitement and anticipation of seeing Villanelle for the first time in a week. 

It’s pretty overwhelming. 

Before she can knock, the door flies open. 

“Eve, hi, are you okay?”

That husky voice and the bright hazel eyes instantly act like a soothing balm, and Eve sighs. 

“Hi.” She says quietly with a smile. “Can I come in?”

Villanelle stands to the side and nods, but her open expression immediately slides into concern when she sees Eve wince as she bends for her suitcase. 

“What happened?” 

Villanelle’s voice is sharp as she picks up the case for her, carrying it inside while keeping an eye on Eve’s pace. 

Eve huffs out a small laugh. 

“Niko.” 

Villanelle rounds on her in an instant, hands on her shoulders and eyes piercing through Eve’s own. 

“He did this to you? He hurt you?”

“No, no,” Eve hurries, “well, not physically. He certainly didn’t warn me I’d run out of path, though. I fell down the steps to the house.”

A relieved sounding sigh leaves Villanelle, and she nods at the sofa. 

“Come on, let’s take a look at your leg while you tell me what that arsehole did.”

Eve laughs again, a little stronger this time, and Villanelle smiles in response as she takes Eve’s arm. 

——

“Ow, shit, fuck.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

Villanelle looks up at Eve apologetically from her kneeling position on the floor, drawing her hand away from Eve’s knee. 

“I cannot believe you fell down the stairs.”

Eve rolls her eyes and gives Villanelle a playful glare. 

“I was a little distracted.”

“With what?”

“Yelling at Niko.” Eve mumbles, looking down at her fingers as she twists them together. “He was being a dick.”

“Nothing new there.” Villanelle shrugs, but her expression has turned worried again. “What did he say?”

“Oh, the usual.” Eve says. “That I have no emotions, that my life goal is to make him miserable, that I only went back there to hurt him.”

Villanelle frowns, then pushes herself up. 

“He is a bad man.” Villanelle tells Eve. “I am going to get my first aid kit, don’t move.”

“Couldn’t if I wanted to.” Eve calls after the blonde’s retreating form. As she hears Villanelle rummage in a cabinet somewhere, Eve reaches for the remote on the coffee table. The TV turns on to some bizarre court show on a channel she’s never heard of, and she smirks just as Villanelle walks back towards her. 

“Trashy court shows?” Eve asks with one eyebrow raised. Villanelle laughs and glances at the TV. 

“I like them.” She shrugs. “They’re easy.”

Villanelle sits back on the floor, first aid kit next to her, then looks carefully at Eve. 

“Um… you’re going to have to take your jeans off.”

“Oh.”

_ Duh, Eve.  _

Villanelle must see the look on Eve’s face because she sits back suddenly. 

“I mean, I don’t have to help. I can go to my room for a bit, give you some privacy, if you don’t need-”

“No.” Eve blurts out before her brain has a chance to catch up with her. “I mean… I mean, you can stay. I could use the help.”

“Okay.” Villanelle nods, eyes wide, and then Eve is standing and unbuttoning her jeans. 

It puts Villanelle at eye height with her zipper, and Villanelle looks straight ahead at it for a second before clearing her throat and shuffling back, turning her head to watch the court show on TV while Eve takes off her jeans. 

It’s sweet. Courteous. It’s… other things, too. 

Eve wishes she’d turn around and watch her instead. 

With her heart beating hard, Eve sits back down on the sofa, pulling at her button up shirt in an attempt to cover most of her underwear now on display. She clears her throat, and Villanelle turns back to her. 

Eve can tell that Villanelle is trying her hardest not to look down, and it sends a thrill through her, red hot and tantalising, all pain forgotten the instant she recognises the forced control in the blonde’s posture. 

Villanelle seems to remember what’s happening because she blinks one, then darts her eyes down to Eve’s knees. 

“Oh shit, Eve.”

She follows Villanelle’s gaze and sees the blood, most of it crusting but some fresh blood still trying to ooze free from a neat split of skin. Angry pinks and purples, a dangerous storm of colours, surround the cut, and Eve winces. 

“Oh. Ouch.”

Villanelle scoffs in disbelief at Eve’s feeble reaction, then reaches into the first aid kit for some wipes. 

“Okay, I’m going to clean it. This is going to hurt.”

“Great, just wha-  _ ow _ !” 

Villanelle looks up sharply when Eve jerks away from her touch, hissing at the pain. 

“Keep still.”

Eve grumbles at the command but does as she’s told, holding still and only squeaking in pain occasionally as Villanelle cleans away some of the damage. 

It becomes sort of rhythmic, the gentle wiping to and fro across the bloodied area, and Eve finds herself almost lulled into relaxation by it once the pain dulls. Villanelle is so soft and careful, and Eve feels herself grow warm at the way Villanelle is looking after her. 

She feels it after a minute of quiet… the gentle brush of a fingertip. Eve looks down and sees Villanelle’s little finger swoop alongside her wiping motions, trailing over Eve’s skin. 

Is it unintentional?

Or is Villanelle touching her because she wants to touch her. 

It’s a stroke. A stroke of skin against skin, soothing, calming, and before Eve can take a breath to calm her suddenly fluttering heart, little goosebumps prickle across her thigh. 

If Villanelle notices, she says nothing, just continues to drag her finger softly over Eve’s skin. 

But all at once she stops, pulling the wipe and her fingers away. The tiny white sheet is red with blood now, and Villanelle drops it onto the coffee table. 

“All done.” 

Villanelle’s voice is quieter than before. Breathier. 

The two women stare at each other for what can only be two seconds but feels like two lifetimes to Eve. There’s something in the air, a spark or a crackle that slows time, and Eve is sitting here in her underwear and an old shirt and god does she  _ want- _

Villanelle breaks the eye contact by looking down into the first aid kit. Her eyes return to Eve’s knee as she tears open a plaster. 

“Wait.” Eve says quickly without thinking, just wanting the touch to come back, and Villanelle glances up. Eve swallows. Shakes her head a little. Clears her throat. “It stings.”

Mischief returns to Villanelle’s eyes as she lifts the plaster and smirks. 

“Stop being a baby.”

“I’m not a baby!” Eve gasps. “It hurts! If you’re gonna be mean, I’ll just do it myself-”

“No, I can do it!”

It’s Eve’s turn to smirk at Villanelle’s adamant tone, and the blonde shrugs, looking away from Eve. 

“I can do it.” Villanelle repeats, readying the plaster. “I like helping you.”

Eve feels her heart thud, feels the warmth spread up her neck into her cheeks. 

“I like it too.”

Villanelle smiles a little as she looks up at Eve. 

When Villanelle sticks the plaster to Eve’s knee she’s steady and gentle, not pressing hard enough to push on the tender bruising, but hard enough to fix it in place. Another one follows, covering a scrape beside the cut, and Villanelle smooths her fingers over it slowly when it’s stuck in place. The innocent touches set Eve on fire. 

And then she leans forward. 

Eve‘s breath catches in her throat as Villanelle places a small kiss on top of each plaster.

She’s still holding the breath when Villanelle pulls back, flashing Eve a smile that is probably supposed to be cheeky, but just comes across as soft. 

“There, you baby.” Villanelle says, just above a whisper. “All better.”

Eve’s breath leaves her in a whoosh of air, and Villanelle bites her lip. 

God, this night has taken a  _ turn _ . 

Eve’s mind feels fuzzy, sort of dazed and weak, so she looks away from Villanelle and tries flexing her leg. It hurts like a bitch and she winces again, but at least there’s no more blood. 

“Thank you, doctor.” Eve says, trying to make her tone teasing but failing to cover up the damn breathlessness that’s settled. “Is that a medically recognised technique? Kissing booboos?”

Villanelle bites her lip as she nods slowly. 

“Yes.” Villanelle says seriously. “Medical journals have been written on their benefits.”

“Uh huh.” Eve laughs. 

It falls quiet again. Villanelle stays on the floor. 

Eve watches as she reaches up a hand, hovers over Eve’s knee before tracing a finger, delicately, around the outside of the plasters. 

Eve shivers and burns at the touch.

“I should probably go take a shower.” Eve murmurs, eyes fixed on the slowly tracing fingertip, hypnotised. “And, uh… get ready for, um… bed.”

Villanelle looks up. 

Her eyes are darker. 

“Okay. If that’s what you want.”

Villanelle’s tone is raspier than usual and it sparks deep inside Eve, stokes the fire already out of control. She stares at Villanelle as her heart pounds against her ribs. 

Eve isn’t sure what possesses her to ask it. 

“What do  _ you _ want?”

She couldn’t stop the words as they left her in a whisper. 

Villanelle doesn’t move, doesn’t look away, just stares. 

Eve wonders what’s going on behind those eyes. 

The silence stretches on, only the random dialogue of the show in the background, but Eve can only hear the thud of her heart, the rush of her blood. 

Villanelle licks her lips, gaze flicking down for a fraction of a second.

Eve watches with rapt attention. 

“I want…” Villanelle trails off, and Eve feels her breath hitch once more, feels herself  _ burn _ . “I want-”

And then the doorbell rings. 

Eve jumps out of her skin and Villanelle just about falls over backwards, both yelping at the loud and intrusive sound. Villanelle stands up quickly, rubs her palms on her trousers, then quirks an awkward smile down at Eve, cheeks flushed and eyes still dark. 

“I ordered take out.”

As Villanelle hurries to the door, Eve drops her head back against the sofa, willing her heart rate to return to something close to normal. She closes her eyes.

What a day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to my best pal lawyer for stopping this turning into an actual soap opera that wouldn’t make sense in any law setting anywhere on the planet


	14. Scales of Justice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, sorry for the delay, I forgot I actually have to write the chapters before I post them

Nothing happened, after the doorbell rang.

But before…

Villanelle almost told Eve that she wanted her.

And she is sure, quite sure, that Eve would not have been against that admission. Not if the goosebumps on her thighs and the darkening of her eyes were anything to go by.

Villanelle had not been able to help herself. She couldn’t not touch Eve’s skin, couldn’t stop herself from brushing her finger, back and forth, against the side of Eve’s knee.

It was so... _innocent_.

But an innocent touch has never made Villanelle so _hot_.

——

It’s as they’re stepping into the elevator that Villanelle remembers what Hugo said.

“Eve?”

The brunette has her hands fisted by her sides, her eyes fixed to the digital screen above the doors that slide closed.

“Mm?”

It’s distracted, the reply, Eve clearly focussed on staring at the screen and nothing else.

“Hugo told me you are scared of heights.” Villanelle says quietly.

Eve’s fingers spread wide before curling back into a fist.

“Mm.”

Villanelle feels the elevator start to rise, and watches as Eve’s eyes shut. The discomfort radiates from Eve in waves. 

“Hey,” Villanelle says, “do you know what I am scared of?”

One of Eve’s shoulders lifts in a tiny shrug.

“I am scared of the sea. Well, open water.”

Eve’s head twitches to the side, and Villanelle smiles when their eyes meet.

“Why?”

Villanelle doesn’t look away from Eve, wanting to keep Eve’s focus on her rather than the world outside the glass, shrinking downwards.

“My uncle took me to the Norfolk coast when I was 13, just me, him, and his wife,” Villanelle says with a small smile, “for a weekend trip. We took a boat out on the Saturday, even though the weather was not good, and I decided I wanted to dive in.”

Eve turns her head fully, eyes curious as she listens.

“My aunt did not want to dive while it was windy, and Konstantin wanted to stay on the boat, so I did it by myself. I made my aunt take a photo as I dove in. It was _so cold_.” Villanelle laughs. “So cold that my muscles felt like they were frozen. Like, really frozen. It was like the air in my lungs iced over. I tried to swim back to the boat, but I could not get close.”

Brown eyes widen at Villanelle’s words, the rapidly disappearing ground forgotten.

“My aunt shouted ‘stop messing around’ but I was not, I was trying. And then Konstantin shouted ‘it’s the tide’, and I realised that I was getting pulled away from the boat by it. They got further and further away from me, and my aunt went to throw the life ring but it was too late, I was too far away. And then they were gone.”

“Gone?” Eve asks, hushed.

Villanelle nods.

“I could not see the boat anymore. All I could see were dark clouds and dark sea. No land. The waves were so choppy and they kept hitting my face, and I was swallowing water while trying to stay afloat. I think I was treading water for… three, four minutes? But it felt like hours.”

She can tell they’re nearing her floor now, she’s taken this lift enough times to know how long it takes without seeing.

“What happened?” Eve asks. 

“I thought I was going to drown. I made peace with it, actually. I looked up at the storm clouds and I thought ‘this is how I am going to die’.”

“Jesus.”

“And then suddenly, there was the boat. They had pulled up the anchor and found me. They got close, my aunt was steering, and Konstantin was ready to grab me but then she shouts ‘no, she cannot get too close or the engine will suck her in’.”

Villanelle feels the lift slow just as Eve’s mouth drops open.

“So they cut the engine, but immediately the tide dragged us apart again. Konstantin shouted ‘just drive, I will grab her’ and so she does, and he grabs me and hauls me out of the ocean, clean through the air and into the boat. Then he wrapped me in towels and held me close as I shook, and he told me that everything was okay.”

The lift stops at their floor, and the doors open with a ding.

“Holy shit.” Eve says, almost stumbling out of the lift as she tries to keep her eyes on Villanelle. “That is _intense_.”

“Eh, it was fine.” Villanelle shrugs casually. “I had picnic food after and then fell asleep on the beach, so all in all it was an okay day.”

“Still,” Eve pressed, “you could have drowned.” 

“But I didn’t.” Villanelle says with a happy smile, before turning to Hugo who is sitting behind his desk, already eyeing the pair. “Good morning Hugo.”

“Good morning Ms Astankova.” He says in his usual drawl. He quirks an eyebrow. “And good morning Mrs Polastri? I wasn’t expecting to see you. And arriving… together, no less.”

A quick glance at Eve shows the other woman’s cheeks going pink at the comment, so Villanelle rounds on Hugo and leans forward to mutter in his ear.

“Another word and I tell Konstantin you order deliveroo to the building.”

She hears his small gasp, and smirks as she pulls away.

“Eve,” she says, voice sweet as Eve stares at them with apprehension, “shall we?”

One last flash of a glare at Hugo and Villanelle walks away, leading Eve into her office.

“Wait, why were we talking about you almost drowning?” Eve asks from behind her, and Villanelle chuckles as she places her bag and case down on her desk.

“To distract you.”

“Distract me from what?”

Villanelle grins.

“Exactly.” 

Eve looks confused still, but Villanelle knows she’ll get it when she has to ride the lift down again later. Once Eve has hung her coat up and has sat down facing her, the blonde grabs her pen.

Villanelle slips into business mode.

“Alright,” she says, “let’s get started.”

——

It begins with the bra, and ends with the receipt.

“Okay,” Villanelle says, finishing her coffee. “You did very well, Eve.”

“Yeah?” Eve sounds doubtful, so Villanelle throws her a wide smile.

“Yes!” Villanelle nods enthusiastically. “You really did, this receipt is perfect, and the fact it was in his squash bag? Excellent. He will call it conjecture, of course, but for the court ‘the easiest answer is the right answer’.”

“He?”

“Niko’s lawyer, Raymond Smith.” Villanelle’s lip curls unhappily. 

“You know him?”

“Unfortunately.”

Eve laughs, probably at the venom in Villanelle’s voice that she doesn’t try to hide.

“What did he do?”

“Ugh, he’s just… gross.” Villanelle huffs. “He has made it his mission to ruin me. Whenever we are working on opposing parties it is like he cares more about making me fail then he does about his client.”

“But why?” Eve asks, fiddling absentmindedly with her mug handle as she stares at Villanelle. “Something must’ve happened to make him act that way.”

Villanelle fidgets. 

“Nothing major happened.” She says slowly, carefully. “A little… miscommunication? He overreacted.”

Eve’s eyes narrow. 

“What did you do?” She asks, tone suspicious yet playful, and Villanelle shrugs. 

“Nothing!” She insists, giving Eve her best innocent eyes. “Nothing deliberately, anyway. But look, we are getting off track.”

Eve gives her a deadpan stare but smiles, then gestures at Villanelle to continue. 

“As I was saying, the court will always go with the easiest explanation. If we can prove that Niko does not play squash, but instead uses that time to visit Ms Gemma Bridge, then we are good.”

“Okay,” Eve claps her hands and rubs them together, “okay. Tell me what to do.”

“We need to be able to back up our claim that Niko has been partaking in extramarital activities.” Villanelle says, tapping her pen against her pad. “So the best place to start will be at the sports club. Do you know where he plays?”

“Yeah.” Eve nods. “Not far from our house.”

“Good. If the club lets us down then we will speak to the friends you say he goes with. And by we, I mean you.”

Eve frowns. 

“Me? Why me? Wouldn’t it be better if the lawyer does it?”

“Oh, no,” Villanelle leans back in her chair, “it would not do well for our case if I am the one providing evidence; it is unethical for your attorney to do so. The information needs to come from you, and you need to keep it to yourself that we discussed you going. Just like with everything else. Okay?”

“Got it.” Eve nods. She bites her lip nervously. “Am I allowed to walk in there and just… demand to see their membership records?”

“Well, no, don’t do that.” Villanelle leans forward again. “See if you can get whoever is behind the desk talking about members, maybe they will know Niko, but if that fails you can just outright ask if Niko is a member.”

“Oh!” Eve gasps, clicking her fingers. “About a year ago he went away for the weekend for a tournament! Said he got second place.”

“Perfect.” Villanelle drops her pen in victory. “Ask them about that. If he is lying, they will have no record of him competing.”

Villanelle feels elated, this new information coming together in her mind to create a case solid enough to win. It is a wonderful feeling, a surge of energy that has her sitting up straight and grinning, but Eve is not grinning. Her eyes are unfocused, the excitement from moments ago gone as she stares down at the desk. 

Before Villanelle can ask if she is okay, Eve sighs. 

“God, I’m such an idiot.” She mumbles. “Of course he didn’t go away for a weekend-long squash tournament.”

Villanelle slumps a little. It is hard to remember how this sort of thing can affect her clients, sometimes. 

She stands up and walks around the desk, Eve glancing at her through her hair falling over her shoulders. Villanelle so badly wants to tuck it back.

Instead, she sits on the edge of the desk to the side of Eve’s knees, close. 

“I am sorry your husband is trash.”

Eve snorts at Villanelle’s words, who smiles at the reaction. 

“It’s fine.” Eve says with another sigh. “I shouldn’t still be getting surprised by the shit he’s pulled, but here I am.”

Villanelle nudges the side of Eve’s thigh with her shin. 

“It is not strange to still be upset.” She says softly. “You were in love for a long time. It is hard to hear that someone who once loved you would then do this to you.”

“It’s just…” Eve starts, running a hand frustratedly through her curls and staring at Villanelle. “Why not leave me, y’know? Why not just ask for a divorce if you’re unhappy enough to have an affair?”

“Because some people are cowards,” Villanelle says simply, “and some people are mean, and some have children and think that an affair is better than leaving them with just one parent. They all have their reasons, but the truth is none of the reasons are good. I agree with you. Leaving is better.”

“Which reason do you think is Niko’s?” 

Eve’s voice is quiet, brown eyes wide as she looks up at Villanelle. 

“Mean. Niko is mean.” She says with a small shrug. “And an idiot. Has he even _seen_ you?” 

It is maybe the wrong thing to say, and Villanelle half wishes she could take the words back. To a friend, they would come across as playful encouragement, but to Eve… after last night…

Eve ducks her head a little and Villanelle cannot see her through the curtain of dark curls. It makes her nervous. She clears her throat. 

“I-”

“You charmer.”

There’s a smirk in Eve’s voice which both calms and excites Villanelle, and suddenly Eve is standing up and moving the chair away, joining Villanelle in sitting on the desk. There are a few inches of space between them, where Villanelle’s hand rests. 

Villanelle flashes her a smile. 

“I like to keep my clients happy.” She replies with a casual shrug. 

Swinging her legs and laughing a little, Eve seems to relax next to her. It’s quiet for a moment, the walls doing an excellent job of keeping out the sounds from the rest of the floor, and Villanelle finds herself suddenly overcome with the need to talk to Eve about last night. 

To ask what would have happened, had the doorbell not rang. 

But she can’t ask. It could scare Eve. Plus it is not a good idea for the case, opening up the door to something that could get her fired and lose Eve thousands. 

She can’t ask. 

So instead, instead she looks to her left and studies Eve’s side profile. She traces her gaze along sharp cheekbones and tan skin, the cluster of faint freckles high on her cheeks, the curve of her full lips. 

Eve’s hair is shining under the office lights, chestnut browns mixing in with inky black. The curls are wild, almost messy but perfectly so as they spill around slim shoulders down to where her shoulder blades must start, so soft looking, so thick, and Villanelle could just stare and stare and stare-

“Thank you for being so supportive through all of this.”

Eve’s voice breaks the silence, but not Villanelle’s gaze. Her eyes remain firmly fixed on Eve as the brunette turns her head to look at her. 

It takes her a second to realise she needs to say something back. 

“Oh, you are welcome.” Villanelle says. “It is literally my job, but also we are friends now, and it is what friends do.”

Eve smiles, skin crinkling sweetly around her eyes. They are still close, but it feels like they are closer now that they’re looking at each other. Villanelle’s fingers twitch between them on the wood of her desk. 

“How are you doing? Do you want to talk more about Niko?” 

“God no.” Eve laughs. “I want to talk about him as little as possible.”

“Okay.” Villanelle agrees. It’s quiet again. They’re looking at each other and they really are so close, and Villanelle wills herself not to look at Eve’s lips as she carefully asks “...is there anything else you want to talk about?”

“Um…” Eve mumbles softly. Their eyes stay locked and Eve’s legs have stopped swinging, and everything is still, so still, and so close and so quiet and- “what do you mean?”

Villanelle bites her lip. 

Her heart skips as Eve quickly glances down and back up again. 

“Just… anything about…”

Words evade Villanelle, dance out of reach as the office lights dance in dark brown eyes. Eve swallows, and Villanelle lets herself watch her throat bob with the motion. 

“I do have a question, actually.”

The words are airy and Villanelle breathes them in. 

A touch to her hand almost startles her, and without looking down she knows that Eve’s own fingers have touched delicately to hers, the tips just resting ever so gently by Villanelle’s. Barely a touch but as intense as a firework going off in her hand. 

“Go ahead.” Villanelle murmurs, trying to sit still, to not lean towards Eve right here in the middle of her office, sat on her desk. 

Eve swallows again. 

“What were you going to say last night? After… after ‘I want’?”

Oh. 

Words evade her still, because what can she say? She sees the scales of justice in her mind, one side rammed full of the years of work she has put in to get here, the other side containing only the handful of sparking moments between Eve and herself, yet the scales stay balanced. 

“I am not sure I should answer that question.” Villanelle says just above a whisper. 

Villanelle watches as Eve exhales quickly. 

“Why not?”

“Because we could both lose a lot if I do.”

Watches as Eve inhales. 

“What is there to lose?”

Villanelle sighs and feels her breath shake. 

“Everything.” She whispers. 

The intercom on Villanelle’s desk buzzes. 

She leaves it and continues to look at Eve, continues to try to think of how she can tell her that she wants her, wants to kiss her, wants to fuck her, wants to… take care of her, and other, softer things Villanelle does not fully understand yet.

It buzzes again. 

She sighs, and it shatters the moment. 

“If I don’t get that, he’s just going to-”

“-come in, yeah, I know.” Eve says with a crooked smile. 

Blowing a strand of blonde hair from her face, Villanelle reaches behind Eve and presses the button. 

“What is it, Hugo?”

“Your 11 o’clock cancelled, they want to reschedule for next week.”

“Oh,” says Villanelle, feeling herself settle back into the present, “can you fit them in? I need to see them sooner rather than later.”

“You have a free hour on Monday if you skip lunch.”

“I don’t want to skip lunch.”

“Then it’s 3pm on Friday.”

“No, that’s too late.”

“Then you’re skipping lunch on Monday.”

“But I-”

Fingers press against Villanelle’s lips and she stops, eyes wide. 

“She’ll do Monday, she’ll bring lunch in with her.”

Villanelle’s wide eyes narrow into a glare. 

“Lovely. Thank you, Eve.”

“No problem Hugo.” Eve replies, one eyebrow raised at Villanelle as she pulls the blonde’s finger off the intercom button and her own from Villanelle’s mouth. “It’s lunch, Villanelle, I think you’ll survive.”

“But I like lunch. It is important to take breaks when you are working, it is not healthy to work through them.”

“Very true,” Eve nods with an amused smile, “but you are very busy and important and you said that meeting can’t wait, so deal with it.”

Eve hops off the desk, and Villanelle folds her arms. 

“I cannot believe you said I would bring lunch in with me. Why would I do that when there are plenty of places to eat within a minute’s walk?”

Eve scoffs as she reaches for her bag. 

“Seriously? Gee, you’re a snob, huh.”

“I am not a snob!” Villanelle insists. “I am providing business to independent stores! I am _helping_.”

“Not on Monday you’re not.” Eve laughs. She’s walking backwards towards the door before Villanelle even realises it.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“I was going to go to Niko’s sports club, seeing as I have today off.”

“Oh.”

Villanelle is disappointed. She knows they have discussed all that needs discussing, but the tension is still running through her veins and she does not want Eve to leave, not just yet. 

“I mean… unless you want to grab a coffee first?”

“Yes!” Villanelle shouts. Eve laughs loudly as Villanelle jumps down from the desk and shuts her computer screen off. She grabs her bag and slings it over her shoulder and is walking out of the room onto the main floor before Eve has finished putting her jacket on. 

“Where are you going?” Hugo asks with a slight frown when he sees the pair.

“I am going for coffee, hold my calls.”

“You do have other clients you know.” Hugo drawls after them. 

But Eve is grinning, and Villanelle barely hears him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will I ever write a fic where Hugo doesn’t interrupt them? No
> 
> Also that sea story is my story, legit accepted I was going to die, was real weird yo. The picnic food and beach nap part is also true, it was a wild day! And my mum’s partner gutted a fish and there was a smaller fish inside? Crazy.


	15. Ethically ambiguous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have named Bill’s baby, her name is Aubrey. Let it be known.

The tube ride from Villanelle’s building to near hers gives Eve the perfect chance to think. 

They had coffee. 

What did they talk about?

The Bon Appetit channel on YouTube. 

Eve rolls her eyes at herself. 

They’d discovered they both loved the channel, then spent 45 minutes gushing over their favourite chefs, videos and recipes, finishing it off with showing each other their favourite Bon Appetit memes before Villanelle had to leave for a meeting. 

They hadn’t talked about what happened. 

Both… happenings. The night before and the moment on the desk. 

They really should talk about it? Probably? Maybe?

Eve sighs. 

Villanelle had made herself pretty clear despite not actually giving Eve a straight answer, and that…  _ thrills _ her. 

Villanelle wants her. Or wants something from her, or with her. 

It makes Eve shiver in her seat on the tube. 

So why didn’t they talk about it?

Probably because the moment had been broken. They seem to find themselves in these moments where everything falls into place to create the perfect atmosphere for tension. Without that, they fall back into their usual roles, all heat pushed to the backs of their minds ready for the next ‘moment’. 

That’s how it is for Eve, anyway. 

But she still feels it sizzle now. 

The way Villanelle had looked at her, the warmth of her body rolling from her as they sat side by side on the desk, Eve’s fingers inching closer just to touch any part of Villanelle,  _ any _ part. 

Eve was clear too, she thinks. In asking the question, she thinks she made her own desires clear. 

The problem, obviously, is what now?

They can’t. Nothing can happen. Villanelle had said so herself that they could lose everything, which is completely true. They could lose the case. Eve could lose money she’s entitled to along with all the money she’s paying Villanelle. Villanelle could lose her  _ job _ . 

The risk is high, and the air they’re breathing is thin up here. 

The announcer calls Eve’s stop and she leaves the tube, heading out of the station and walking in the opposite direction of her house with purpose. 

If she can’t use this warm, tingling energy for grandiose reveals to the woman she wants to… do stuff with, then she can use it to push her forwards in the direction of crushing her soon to be ex-husband. 

Soon enough, the large sports centre looms ahead of her and with a deep steadying breath she walks inside. The lobby is huge and clean-smelling, with the front desk in the far corner. Eve heads to it slowly, dragging her gaze along the walls as she goes. 

There are posters for classes and huge pieces of printed artwork depicting athletes and motivational quotes, as well as smaller framed photos of various teams and individuals. Eve stops in her walk and crosses to these photos, scanning the faces in them. 

They’re winners, clearly, most holding trophies or medals or certificates, some alone shaking someone’s hand and some in teams, half kneeling and half standing. Eve keeps looking, eyes darting from photo to photo, searching. 

There. 

A cluster of framed photos of squash teams and single players, mostly pictured in front of courts, holding rackets and balls and grinning wide. Engraved plaques beneath them read tournament locations and names and years. 

Niko doesn’t feature in any of them. 

_ That doesn’t mean anything _ , Eve argues with herself. She’s trying to keep her head on straight and not lose it to excitement. She stays calm, levelled. 

She heads to the desk. 

“Hi,” she greets the woman sitting behind a computer, “I was wondering if I could ask some questions.”

“Of course,” she replies cheerfully, “my name is Charlotte. Are you a member?”

“Oh, uh, no,” Eve says. “but-”

“Are you looking to join?”

“No, no, I’m, uh-” Eve tries to get out her words but fumbles them over the alarmingly persistent grin of Charlotte. 

“Well I can tell you about our classes and facilities to start with and we can go from there, how’s that?”

Jesus, this woman’s energy is admirable. 

“Actually, I’d just really like to ask these questions first.” Eve insists. “Before we move on to, uh, memberships.”

“Okie doke.” Charlotte smiles. “Ask away.”

“Okay.” 

And now Eve is here, ready to ask the questions. Ready to ask. 

Any minute now.

Eve groans internally at her sudden nerves. 

_ Think of the bra.  _

It’s a weird thing to tell herself, she recognises, but it works. 

“Okay.” She says again. “So, you have squash here, right?”

“We do.” Charlotte replies. “We have six squash courts, three weekly group glasses, available one-to-one coaching, and thirteen hours a day of available playing time.”

“That’s… great.” Eve says, nodding along like she cares. “And do your players ever compete in competitions?”

“Absolutely. We have a yearly tournament here in the summer, and many of our players travel to other clubs to compete in their own competitions.”

“Okay, cool, um… do you have records of who wins? Your own tournaments and the other tournaments, I mean.”

“We keep track of our own players who win outside of the club, yes.” Charlotte says, only now starting to look a little confused. “And a full record of player placements in our own tournament. Sorry, is this what your questions were about? Because I’m not sure-”

“I promise I’m almost done.” Eve cuts in, flashing what she hopes is a friendly enough smile. “I was wondering if you could tell me about a tournament last May?”

“Um,” Charlotte seems to battle with the request in her mind before shrugging, “sure, let me check.” She taps on her keyboard as Eve taps her foot. “Okay, none here but there was a tournament that some of our players went to an hour from here.”

An hour. Niko wouldn’t need to stay the night somewhere for an event an hour away. Unless he wanted some time away from Eve, which… made sense. They weren’t getting on well at all, even back then. 

“Ah, that’s the one!” Eve clicks her fingers like Charlotte has told her exactly the right thing, and the woman starts beaming again. “Amazing, Charlotte. Now please could you tell me if any of your members placed in the top three?”

“What a random thing to want to know.” Charlotte says, tapping again. 

“I want to know if a friend of mine played.” 

It satisfies whatever question it seems Charlotte was about to ask, because she smiles at Eve quickly before looking back at her screen.

“Okay, yep, we did have one member who placed. He came second.”

Eve feels her heart stop in her chest. 

Was he telling the truth after all?

“And who was that?” Eve manages in a mostly casual tone. 

“Martin Roberts.”

Eve can’t stop the breath that leaves her in one fast exhale. Martin Roberts, that’s Niko’s friend, the one he claims to play with. So Niko was there, but lied about winning? Or wasn’t there and used Martin’s story as his own to tell Eve?

“Oh, that’s him!” Eve must fake excitement well, because Charlotte laughs. “Could you, uh, could you check again and tell me if Niko Polastri placed?”

Charlotte scans the screen. 

“Nope, no Niko Polastri.”

“Huh.” Instantly Eve feels glee return, and she doesn’t have to force her smile. “Okay, you have been such a help, Charlotte, just one more question. Is Niko Polastri still a member here?”

“No, not a member.” Charlotte says after typing, scanning her eyes rapidly across the screen. “Has never been a member, actually. We have no record of a Niko Polastri.”

Hearing those words almost has Eve’s eyelids fluttering in joy. 

“Never been a member. Wonderful.” Eve is grinning now, just as widely as Charlotte, and she must look insane but she really doesn’t care. “Wonderful. Well, thank you so much Charlotte, I hope you enjoy the rest of your day.”

Eve starts walking away when the chirpy voice calls out. 

“Wait, didn’t you want to talk about membership?”

“God no!” Eve laughs, not looking back as she walks. “I hate the gym. But you, you have been awesome, I’ll make sure to sing your praises on twitter.”

“Oh… okay? We’re at-”

Eve has already left. 

——

“Well hello, stranger!”

Bill greets Eve with a wide grin as he opens his door to her, and she smiles back. 

“I saw you like a week ago.”

“Two, but alright.” Bill chuckles, then waves her inside. 

Eve slips her boots off and makes a beeline for the living room, immediately zoning in on and crouching in front of Aubrey, who bounces happily in her brightly coloured plastic baby jumper. 

“Oh sweetheart, look at you!” Eve coos. “You’re getting so big! And you’ve got your dad’s hair.”

“She barely has any hair.”

“I know.” 

Bill tuts good humouredly behind her and Eve throws him a smirk over her shoulder, hands still fussing with Aubrey’s as they squeeze Eve’s fingers. 

“You come to my house, you insult my hair, you try to recruit my only daughter to your side…”

Eve laughs as she stands up, stepping over and wrapping her arms around Bill in a hug. 

“I’m sorry, forgive me.”

Bill stares pointedly at the ceiling and doesn’t hug Eve back, who laughs again. 

“Hmph, I don’t know.” He huffs, still not looking at her. 

“I brought wine.”

“Eve, my darling friend, welcome!”

——

“That bastard.” Bill says while clipping Aubrey into her high chair by the table they’re sitting at. “I knew it, I  _ knew _ he was no good. Didn’t I say? All along?”

“You never said he was no good.” Eve says into her glass of red. “You just made a lot of facial expressions whenever I spoke about him.”

“Which is as good as telling you he’s no good, Eve.” Bill replies. “Actions speak louder than words.”

“Yeah, I’m learning that.” Eve grumbles. “And Niko’s actions are like being screamed at through a megaphone.”

“That bastard.” Bill says again. He pulls a small jar out of the fridge and starts spooning orange goop into a small bowl, before placing it in front of Aubrey. “I’m so sorry, Eve.”

She shrugs. 

“It’s fine.” Eve props her chin up on her hand as she watches Aubrey immediately drop her face straight into the food with an excited gurgle. Bill gently pulls her back out, the orange mess already smeared all over her mouth and forehead. “Your kid is weird.”

“She’s learning to feed herself, leave her be.” Bill scolds before dropping a kiss to Aubrey’s head. “What’s your excuse?”

“A 17 year relationship that has left me unhappy, anxious, and a lot fucking poorer?”

“Shh, don’t swear in front of her.”

“Oh, but you can say ‘bastard’ all you want?” Eve says indignantly. 

“We’re talking about you right now.” Bill tells her as he sits back down at the table, pulling his small glass of wine close and taking a sip. “Oh, this is bad.”

“Did you not hear the part about me being poor now?”

“Fair enough.” Bill coughs around the wine. “Lucky for me I’m looking after this little one, so just half a glass for daddy.”

“Don’t-” Eve huffs, covering her eyes briefly before squinting at Bill in disbelief, “don’t call yourself that, come on.”

“But I am a daddy.” He puffs his chest out and smiles. “Aren’t I, Aubs? I’m a daddy!”

“Jesus Christ.” Eve takes a huge gulp of the terrible wine to stop herself from laughing and potentially encouraging her best friend. “Look, can we talk about me, please?”

“My second favourite subject.” Bill nods, facing to focus on eve while keeping one hand gently touching Aubrey’s arm, like he needs to keep the connection. “So, Niko has been cheating on you, maybe for a year and a half but at least for a month.”

“Yes.”

“Right. Well, believe it or not, I am actually surprised. Didn’t think the man had the sex appeal nor the balls for an affair.”

“It doesn’t take bravery to cheat on a person.” Eve lifts her chin from her hand and scowls a little. 

“Of course not.” Bill agrees. “It’s utterly cowardly. But it takes balls to do something that terrible to someone so lovely.”

Eve’s scowl softens, and she shrugs. 

“Well, he did.”

“Idiot.” Bill mutters. He turns to look at Aubrey and uses a muslin cloth to wipe her face a bit, before looking back at Eve. “And your solicitor is obviously happy about this turn of events?”

“I mean, she’s not  _ happy _ .” Eve says. “But she’s certainly excited that she has something to work with. She really thinks she’s going to be able to win this for me. Do you know what I could do with that money?”

“Take your best pal Bill on a nice holiday?”

“We  _ are _ overdue for a weekend away.” Eve nods with a smile. “But yeah, this shit storm of a divorce could possibly work out.”

“Language.” Bill admonishes her. 

“Crap storm.”

“Not better.”

“That’s as good as you’ll get from me.”

“Okay.” Bill chuckles. He takes another sip of wine and only winces a little this time around. “Remind me of her name again? Antova?”

“Astankova.” Eve answers. “Villanelle Astankova.”

“Ooh, first name? Do you get to call her that?”

Eve pauses, drinks wine to cover the moment. 

“Yes. We are… friends.”

“Friends?” Bill is staring at her, hand frozen mid-way to lifting a small spoon to Aubrey’s mouth. “Is that… allowed?”

“Yeah, totally. It’s… it’s not  _ common _ , but I trust her. It’s fine.”

“Eve...” 

It’s quiet until Aubrey lets out an impatient shriek, and Bill starts in his chair before finishing the spoon’s journey, the baby giggling happily and spraying the food everywhere as soon as it's in her mouth. 

“Eve,” Bill says again, conversationally this time, but careful, “what was it you said about her, after meeting her for the first time?”

“I don’t recall.” Eve replies, stubborn.

“I believe it was something along the lines of ‘stunning, intelligent, successful, admirable’...”

“Christ, Bill, did you write it down and memorise it or something?”

Bill laughs, which makes Aubrey laugh, which makes Eve bite her lips together in an effort to not also laugh. 

“It just stuck in my mind, is all!” He says with a smile. “You told me you had a ‘feeling’ about her, too.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Eve is starting to feel awkward, feels it rising in her, but she doesn’t put an end to the topic because there’s something else too, something close to excitement. She  _ wants _ Bill to keep asking. 

It might save her from having to bring it up herself. 

“So how’s that feeling working out for you?”

“It’s… it’s still there.”

Bill hums and nods, then takes a few seconds to clean up Aubrey again who has now taken to just waving the empty spoon above her head happily. 

When he looks back at Eve, his eyes are focussed, eyebrows raised. 

“Tell me about her again.”

Eve takes a deep breath. 

“She’s still on my side. She’s still successful and intelligent and… and beautiful, yes.” She gives him a look on that last word. “But she’s also funny, like so funny, and caring, and has great taste in clothes, and she makes fun of the movies I like, and my bag.”

“It’s an awful bag.”

“Stop it.” Eve says with a small smile. “She’s got a great sense of humour, and she really listens to me when I talk, not just about my marriage but about everything when we’ve been out for dinner or coffee or watching a movie-”

“You watched a film together?”

“Well, yeah…”

Bill looks bewildered. 

“When?”

“Like… a week ago?”

Bill gives her a look that says continue, but Eve ignores it and tries to look innocent. 

“Where?” He finally asks, motioning for her to keep talking. 

“At… her house.”

“At her  _ house _ ?” Bill’s voice picks up in volume the more his surprise grows, but Eve only shrugs in response. “Are you mad?”

“It’s not illegal!” Eve replies. “It’s okay to be friends with your lawyer, it’s fine!”

“Friends, sure.” Bill nods. “But is that what this is?”

Eve swallows. 

“What do you mean?”

And bless Bill, he knows Eve. He knows she needs to be asked for her to be able to open up, needs someone else to unlock the door for her so she can throw it open and run through. 

“Eve.” Bill says, starting to smile. 

There’s anxiety in her chest mixing with a warm buzzing excitement. 

“I-”

Eve gapes around the word, mouth moving but no sound coming out. 

“Do you  _ fancy _ her, Eve?” 

Her mouth shuts. 

She feels her heart thump heavily in her chest. 

“Yes.”

It’s like a dam bursting. The relief pours from her and she can breathe, can breathe again in this light kitchen with a gurgling baby and her best friend sat beside her, painting the very picture of a casual Wednesday while being so, so far from it. 

“You sly dog.”

Eve laughs, free and open, at Bill’s comment. 

“God, I know. It’s bad isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Bill nods simply. “But it’s okay.”

“How is it okay?” Eve asks, hoping Bill can actually answer. 

“Because you’re not going to act on it.”

That’s… not what Eve was hoping for. 

“Oh.”

“Oh my god, listen to you!” Bill laughs, clapping his hands once. “I’ve never heard a more disappointed ‘oh’ in my life.”

Eve doesn’t say anything, just folds her arms and looks away from Bill, making him laugh harder. 

“Darling,” he says through a chuckle, “what were you expecting me to say?”

“I don’t know!” Eve throws her hands up as she looks at Bill again. “I just… needed someone to tell me that it’s all going to work out.”

“It is going to work out, but it would be incredibly ethically ambiguous for you to try anything with her.” Bill explains. He stands up and unbuckles Aubrey, then holds her on his hip. “And besides, what if she doesn’t reciprocate?”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure she would.” Eve murmurs. 

That stops Bill in his tracks to the living room, and he turns to stare at Eve as she stands. 

“You really are a sly dog.” He says through a growing grin. “Seducing your solicitor no less. That’s my Eve.”

With an eye roll to cover the glow that compliment gives her, Eve follows them back into the living room, dropping onto the sofa as Bill sits on the floor with Aubrey on his lap. 

“She’s made it… pretty clear.” Eve admits. “Kind of certain she’s almost kissed me twice.”

Bill barks a laugh from the carpet. 

“My god, what a pair you two are. The ethical ambiguity is doubled and shared. You sure she’s a good solicitor? Because I think a lawyer fancying her client is a big no in their world.”

“She’s amazing.” Eve immediately defends. “And… and she’s even said that… this, whatever this is, could mean we’d lose everything, so.”

Eve’s own words sour her mood, and she slumps against the cushions. Bill sighs from the floor then stands up, bringing Aubrey with him as he settles beside Eve. 

“You quite like her, don’t you? Beyond wanting to rip her expensive suit off, that is.”

“Mm,” Eve hums, “although I would like to do that too.”

Bill shakes his head and chuckles. 

“We’ll get to your sudden desire for lady parts later.” Eve scrunches her nose awkwardly but Bill just shrugs. 

Eve watches little Aubrey play with a chunky plastic toy, waving it around in her pudgy little hands and bashing it repeatedly into Bill’s thigh. 

She looks back at him, at her best friend, and she feels desperate all of a sudden. 

“What should I do?” She asks just above a whisper, and is met with Bill’s soft eyes. 

“You wait.”

Eve sighs. 

“That sounds awful.”

“I’m sure it does.” Bill laughs. “But you know it’s the right thing to do. And if she does like you, she’ll be fine with waiting until the trial is over.”

“And then what?” 

“And then you throw yourselves at each other,” Bill tells her, waving one hand, “bump uglies, or whatever.”

“Bill!” Eve gasps with a laugh.

“What?” He asks before covering Aubrey’s ears with his hands. “I’m not going to say f u c k each other in front of the baby, am I.”

“She’s one!”

“She’s developing early.”

“Okay, okay.” Eve is still laughing, feeling lighter than she has in a week despite Bill’s sensible yet disappointing advice. “So… I should wait.”

“You should wait.”

Eve nods, purses her lips. 

“Do you want to see a picture of her?”

“Absolutely. I’m surprised you haven’t shown me already.”

Eve slips her phone from her pocket and opens google, much to Bill’s delight. 

“You’ve been googling her?”

“I had to.” Eve lies, ignoring his stare as it burns her cheek. “I wanted to read up on her previous cases.”

“Sure.” 

Eve clicks through to the image results and, thanks to the unusual name, the first image is of Villanelle, a professional shot. She holds the phone up to Bill, who whistles lowly. 

“Wowzers trousers.” He says before looking at Eve with a gleam in his eye. “Well... Good luck with waiting.”

She sticks her middle finger up at Bill who immediately covers Aubrey’s eyes. 

“Eve, think of the baby!”

——

She’s in Bill’s spare room, tucked up in bed in a borrowed t-shirt of Kieko’s as she thumbs through her phone, reading through an article sent to her by Carolyn. 

Her boss has been surprisingly relaxed with Eve working from home so much. She doesn’t want to let the woman down, not when she’s being so understanding, so when she’s not been in the office Eve has tried to work as much as she can from cafe tables and the various rooms she’s stayed in. 

She makes her notes and emails it back, not worrying about the late hour; she knows Carolyn will still be awake, isn’t entirely sure the woman even sleeps more than a couple hours a night. 

Satisfied that she’s done her duty for the day, Eve opens up Twitter and scrolls through aimlessly, liking some linked articles and headlines as well as tweets from these weird ‘stan’ accounts she’s recently followed. After Eve revealed her love for Sandra Bullock, Villanelle had mentioned the accounts, told Eve that ‘stanning’ was something to do with an Eminem song, but that the accounts have nothing to do with Eminem and more to do with posting content about their obsessions. 

Now that she’s thought of Villanelle, however, that’s where her thoughts stay. 

Saying that she liked the woman, in a sexual or romantic way or whatever, was liberating. Eve feels like she could tell anyone, everyone, including Villanelle herself, but something stops her. 

_ “Everything.”  _

Villanelle’s trembling whisper echoes in Eve’s ear, and she shivers. 

She’s right though. They could lose everything, and for what? A kiss? A night of what is bound to be absolute sexual perfection? A… a relationship?

No. Eve won’t let herself get that far. It’s much easier to let it be just about sex, for now. 

So would losing the case be worth it, if it meant having Villanelle? Maybe. But would losing her job, her income, the years of dedicated work, be worth it for Villanelle if it meant having Eve?

Eve knows the answer. Hell, she’d have the exact same answer if the roles were reversed. It’s a no.

Maybe Bill is right. Maybe they should wait. Because after the trial, they’ll be free to do whatever, won’t they. 

Eve sighs. 

It could be another two months until this divorce is done with. Can she wait two months?

Eve scoffs out loud at her line of thought. Of course she can wait. It’s two months, for goodness sake, it’ll fly by. 

Her fingers twitch. 

She doesn’t realise what she’s doing until she’s opened the iMessage thread for Villanelle’s personal phone number. 

Eve: Hi.

She sends it. She just wants to make conversation, is all. She opens twitter again while she waits for a reply, hopes for a reply. 

It comes five minutes later. 

_ Villanelle: Hey! Are you alright? _

Eve: Yeah, just wanted to say hi.

Eve almost slaps herself in the face because seriously She’s not quite this socially inept usually, is more than capable of saying more than just a few words. 

Lucky for Eve, Villanelle doesn’t seem to mind. 

_ Villanelle: Haha, well, hi _

Eve: Hi.

Eve does slap her forehead this time. She’s spoken to Villanelle extensively in real life, so why is she finding this so hard? Why did she even text Villanelle if she has fuck-all to say?

_ Villanelle: ...are you sure you’re alright?  _

Eve decides to ride on the leftover buzz of excitement from earlier. 

Eve: You looked nice today. 

Eve: That blue shirt was really pretty. 

She holds her breath. 

Those three dots bounce, and Eve waits. 

_ Villanelle: Oh. Thank you Eve :) _

_ Villanelle: You looked good too, your green sweater was nice _

Snorting a laugh, Eve replies. 

Eve: No it wasn’t. 

The reply is instant. 

_ Villanelle: No, you are right, it wasn’t _

Eve laughs loudly this time, then claps a hand over her mouth and strains her ears for the sound of a baby crying. When it stays silent, she looks back at her phone. 

_ Villanelle: You should let me take you shopping. We’ll find some clothes that really show you off.  _

The flutter Eve feels in her chest is warm, and she bites her lip to control her grin. 

Eve: Okay. 

_ Villanelle: Really? You’ll come shopping with me? _

Eve: Yeah, I'd like that. 

Eve: You always look amazing, so I know you’d be able to help me.

She knows she’s being bold, but she loves it. The warm fluttering grows and Eve rolls onto her side, bringing the phone closer to her face.

_ Villanelle: Well aren’t you full of compliments  _

Eve holds her breath. 

Eve: I have more, if you’d like to hear them. 

The pause is longer this time and the dots appear and disappear numerous times, but Eve won’t let herself worry. She focuses on the fluttering, focuses on her own boldness and completely ignores the tiny version of Bill in her mind holding up a neon ‘wait’ sign. 

_ Villanelle: Eve _

_ Villanelle: Are you flirting with me? _

All of the air leaves Eve in a whoosh, a deep exhale at such a simple question, but a question that, when answered, means another step for the two of them over the line of acknowledgement. 

Eve: Is that okay?

Eve: If not then no, of course not. 

She hopes the humour takes the edge of seriousness off this moment, if there even is a serious edge. For all Eve knows, Villanelle might be totally relaxed, loving this with sparkling eyes and her own heart fluttering. 

Eve nibbles her lip as she waits. 

_ Villanelle: Yes _

_ Villanelle: It is okay _

_ Villanelle: I like it _

She grins. 

Eve: Good. 

The fluttering in her chest could burst through her rib cage and Eve wouldn’t give a shit as she lies in bed grinning wildly at her phone. She kicks her feet excitedly, trying to expel some of the giddy energy that’s built up over the last five minutes, but it does nothing to calm her down. 

_ Villanelle: You realise this is incredibly ethically ambiguous, yes?  _

What is it with that phrase today?

Eve: I do. 

_ Villanelle: Okay _

There’s a beat of nothing. 

And then-

_ Villanelle: So _

_ Villanelle: I always look amazing, huh? _

Eve turns her face into the pillow to laugh. 

Eve: Did I say that? 

_ Villanelle: Yup _

_ Villanelle: Tell me more? _

Eve glances at the late hour and thinks briefly of how she has to be at work at 8am, but it means nothing to her right now. 

She bites her lip. 

Eve: Well...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aubrey for PM. Bill for best mate. Eve for the naughty corner.


	16. After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO my pals!!! It’s good to be back! For those of you who don’t know, my fic got removed! But it’s back now, my lil beb is back, and here is an update! I think this is a fun chapter, and I hope you do too!

Four days later, Raymond and Niko are walking through the elevator doors. Villanelle looks on with disdain that she doesn’t try to hide, taking in Raymond’s old red suit and Niko’s boring white shirt as they approach herself and Eve, who is stood beside her in a blue blouse Villanelle has never seen but adores on the other woman. 

The men stop, and the four of them stare at each other. 

Hugo clears his throat from his desk.

“The conference room is ready for you.” He tells the group. Even he is dressed more formally than usual, a subtle shirt on with a fainter floral pattern in subdued green tones. It makes Villanelle smile. He has his laptop and a coffee, ready to make notes throughout the meeting as it happens. 

“Then we shall get started.” Villanelle says. She gestures to the conference room with a perfectly manicured hand. “After you, gentlemen.”

——

“Right then.” Villanelle starts, smiling coolly at the two men sitting opposite herself and Eve across the long table. “Firstly, please be aware that this is being recorded,” she indicates the camera set up on a tall tripod behind her, “and if you would also like to record this meeting then please feel free to do so.”

Raymond presses a button on the small but sleek looking dictaphone that sits between himself and Niko. Villanelle nods.

The room, already silent, seems to fall even quieter, and Villanelle feels herself settle into her element.

“The reason we are here today is for an attempt at an amicable resolution.” She tells the room, eyes calmly moving from Raymond’s permanently smug smile to Niko’s pinched and angry features and back again. “The easiest way forward would be the implementation of the prenuptial agreement.”

Raymond nods, darts his eyes to the ceiling quickly in what Villanelle knows is his subtle version of an eye roll, but she just adjusts her tie.

“The prenup stipulates that wrongdoings equals a severance pay of £250,000, and Mrs Polastri is entitled to that sum.”

“Obviously we’ve gone through the prenup.” Raymond says with a vague, bored gesture. “So tell me, what wrongdoings does your client think my client has committed?”

Villanelle smiles in a way she knows is intimidatingly pleasant, when on the receiving end of it. She sees Hugo stifle a smirk behind his hand.

Reaching into the neat file on her desk, Villanelle gently pulls out her first piece of evidence.

“Can your client explain this?”

Eve shifts slightly next to her when Villanelle slides the photograph of a lacy, pink bra across the table.

Raymond takes it, stares down at it, then looks up again with one eyebrow raised sarcastically.

“That is a bra.”

Villanelle nods.

“Yes.”

Raymond pushes the photograph towards Niko without looking at him, and Villanelle watches it as the man stares down at it, expression mostly covered by his fringe and moustache, blocking her from being able to read him.

“And your point?”

Raymond’s voice directs Villanelle’s attention back, and smiles again.

“My client wishes to point out that this brassiere does not belong to her.”

The smug, somewhat entertained expression slides off of Raymond’s face like muck.

He sits up straighter.

“If that were in fact true, then what is your client implying?”

“My client is implying that it is not her bra.” Villanelle replies calmly. “My client is implying that it is someone else’s bra, and that said someone removed the bra in the two parties' joint bedroom, as seen in the photograph.” She tilts her head to the side slightly, surveying the men. “Is that clear enough for you?”

Raymond scoffs, and Villanelle sees a flash of frustration, of anger, burn in his eyes before he looks smug again. He smiles lazily at her.

“It seems to me,” he says slowly, “that all you have is circumstantial evidence.”

“Well, we also have this.”

She reaches again into her file, and pulls out the photograph of the receipt. Before she’s even slid it across the table, Raymond is staring at the ceiling again. Niko is still staring at the photo of the bra.

“This is a photo of a receipt found in the pocket of a pair of your client’s trousers, which were found in your client’s squash kit bag. The receipt is for a restaurant in Central London, dated March 27th, five weeks ago. Five weeks ago today, actually.” Villanelle smiles, like they’ve stumbled upon a fun little tidbit. “My client can confirm that she did not attend a meal in central London, with your client or otherwise, on March 27th, five weeks ago today.”

Raymond passes the new photograph to Niko, who holds it up. His face is almost unreadable, almost, but Villanelle always has been very, very good at seeing details.

And she sees details on Niko’s face.

He may be trying to hide it, but the man is nervous.

Villanelle can practically  _ smell _ it.

“My client could have been at dinner with anyone.” Raymond says easily. “This is not evidence of wrongdoing.”

“Hm.” Villanelle smiles at Raymond. “Mr Smith, are you aware that your client plays squash?”

Raymond turns his head to look at Niko, who nods and gives a tight smile. 

“A good sport.” Raymond says with a soft shrug. “Fine hobby.”

“Yes.” Villanelle agrees sweetly. “Are you aware that he goes every Thursday evening? Has done for roughly the last year and a half?”

“Is this because he went for dinner on a Thursday? People  _ can _ cancel squash sessions for dinner plans, you know.”

Villanelle feels a surge of energy fill her, that delicious current of electricity that only comes from knowing she’s about to serve someone. 

“Of course they can.” Villanelle first agrees, and then she smiles. “But you see, my client decided to go down to the sports centre that your client is a member of. She was curious after finding the receipt, of course. My client remembered Mr Polastri mentioning a tournament he’d come second place in last summer, and this sports centre, it is a nice place, it has photos on the walls in the front lobby area of all the winners of the various competitions the centre takes part in.”

She checks in with Niko and Raymond, who are both staring at her, Niko with apprehension and Raymond with hard focus.

“And do you know what is strange?” She continues, flashing a bemused grin. “Your client is not in the photo for that tournament. He is not in any of the squash tournament photos. My client was obviously a little confused at this, so she asked at the front desk if a Niko Polastri had placed in the aforementioned tournament. Maybe the photo was missing. But no, no Niko Polastri placed in the tournament.”

Niko’s hands are linked on the table, and Villanelle sees his fingers squeeze tightly.

“So, my client asked if Niko Polastri was a member, and do you know what the staff member found? Your client is not a member of the sports centre.”

“So he quit, big deal.” Raymond bites.

“The woman behind the desk then told my client that Niko Polastri,” Villanelle continues smoothly, “has  _ never _ been a member of the sports centre.”

Silence.

Villanelle watches with satisfaction as Raymond turns slowly to look at Niko. The man refuses to look back, but instead stares straight at Eve, features cold and hard. She can practically feel Eve shrink beside her. 

Villanelle’s relaxed and confident demeanor fades and is replaced with irritation, and she immediately wants to be done with the meeting. She does not want Eve to feel uncomfortable in any way. The thought makes her impatient.

“This is all conjecture.” Raymond says with an ugly smirk, before turning to Eve and taking on a condescending tone. “That means you are forcing things together that  _ do not fit _ .”

Villanelle has had enough.

“Do not address my client,” she snaps, “and do not mansplain to her, either. I thought your secretaries were the only women you spoke down to.”

Despite the smirk still on his face, Raymond turns red. 

“Oh, you want to talk secretaries?” 

Villanelle feels another pair of eyes on her, and looks up to see Hugo fixing her with a calm look, shaking his head imperceptibly. 

It takes everything in Villanelle to say it. 

“No.”

Raymond chuckles. 

“I thought not.” He says. “Now, was there anything else?”

“That was all. I’m sure you and your client have a  _ lot _ to discuss.”

Raymond’s smirk only slips a fraction as he casts a quick glance at Niko. He presses a button on his dictaphone then pockets it before standing and picking up his briefcase. He slips the two photos from Villanelle into a file and shuts it inside the burgundy leather case. 

“I’ll be in touch.” He says through his trademark lazy smirk. 

“I cannot wait.” Villanelle smiles back with as much venomous faux sweetness she can manage. 

As Raymond starts to make his way around the table to leave, Niko slowly stands. He doesn’t take his eyes off Eve, not for one second, and so Villanelle’s eyes don’t leave his. 

It’s silent, but Villanelle thinks she can hear Eve’s breathing pick up beside her. 

“If this is how we’re playing,” he says lowly, quietly, “then game on, sweetheart.”

“Goodbye, Mr Polastri.” Villanelle says firmly, making it clear that it’s time for him to leave. A shadow falls across his face but he nods and smiles politely, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

And then the men are gone, and Hugo is walking around the room to switch off the camera. 

No one says anything for a few moments. 

“I think that went well!” Villanelle chirps. 

With a soft thud, Eve’s forehead hits the table.

——

“That was intense.”

Villanelle watches as Eve talks into her Prosecco, bought with her own money despite Villanelle’s insistence that she treat the two of them to champagne to celebrate. 

“What is there to celebrate?” Eve had asked, a dubious look on her face. 

“The future.” Villanelle had smiled, refusing to elaborate and leaving Eve more confused than before. 

So Eve bought them each a glass of Prosecco instead, promising that if Villanelle was still so desperate for champagne, then she was free to buy some after this glass. 

“Intense how?” Villanelle replies, sipping the bubbly liquid. It’s not the worst, but it’s not the best either. 

“Are you kidding?” Eve asks. “That was… that was a lot, wasn’t it? He was so smug and smarmy and-”

“Raymond is always like that.” Villanelle dismisses with a flick of her hand. “He is sour. Don’t let his terrible face make you think we lost in there.”

“But did we  _ win _ ?” 

“Yes.” Villanelle answers simply. 

Eve frowns. 

“I didn’t realise it was a competition.”

“Everything is a competition.” Villanelle shrugs. “Or at the very least everything can be won or lost. And we won, I promise.”

“How did we win?”

“Well,” Villanelle puts her glass down and steeples her fingers, touching her fingertips together gently, “we scared them. I know what Raymond looks like when he is nervous, and I saw it today.”

“The evidence we have, is that why?” Eve asks, doing the opposite to Villanelle by taking a large gulp of the sparkling wine. 

Villanelle smiles. 

“That is exactly why.” She agrees. “Not only that, but he looked at Niko twice.  _ Twice _ , Eve. That means Niko had not told him what we were telling him. Raymond was probably embarrassed at being thrown into the deep end like that.”

“How do you know?”

“Raymond and I have worked on opposing parties many times now.” Villanelle explains. “I am a very observant person, and I know his tells.”

Eve shrugs in defeat, and Villanelle sees the first hint of a smile. It warms her, a soft relief palpable now that Eve seems to be relaxing a little. 

“Okay. Okay, I guess it went okay? Niko certainly looked annoyed.”

“Does he ever look anything but?” Villanelle asked with a scoff, which Eve laughs at. 

“Not really.” She admits, but then the smile slips. “I wonder what he meant at the end? When he said ‘game on’?”

Villanelle scoffs again, and sips her wine. 

“Do not worry,” she says, “you have done nothing wrong yet, he has nothing to throw back at you this time.”

Eve is looking at her funny, her head tilted. 

“Yet?”

Villanelle stares back blankly. 

“Yet? What?” 

“You said ‘yet’,” Eve laughs, “‘you have done nothing wrong yet’. What do you mean by  _ yet _ ?”

Oh. 

Villanelle takes a large gulp of wine while she thinks. 

Had she really said that? Did her subconscious tumble out between her lips, displaying her wishful thinking in the form of a single word? 

Eve hasn’t done anything wrong. Yet. But she could. They could. 

That voice that usually shouts ‘you can't!’ drowns in the bubbles she quickly drinks. It’s nice to have some peace from it. 

Villanelle smiles coyly and shrugs one shoulder, but says nothing. 

Eve opens her mouth once then closes it, eyes wide as she stares at Villanelle, who can practically see the cogs turning in Eve’s mind. Fingers drag through dark curls, and Villanelle watches their journey. 

Eve sighs, a small laugh following. She sits up straighter and opens her mouth again, then closes it, then looks up awkwardly. Finally she glances back at Villanelle with a determined look, who realises with delight that Eve is about to try to flirt back. It’s clear now, and Villanelle smiles. 

Eve has no idea how to do this in person. 

“I have no idea how to do this in person.”

Sometimes Villanelle’s ability to read people surprises even herself. 

“I know,” she tells Eve with a widening smile, “it is funny.”

Eve’s expression collapses into a nervous grin. 

“It’s not funny! I’m honestly trying.”

“That is why it is funny.” Villanelle chuckles. “It is just talking, Eve, but with a little added  _ oomph _ . You did it just fine a few days ago.”

“Yeah, but that was over text!” Eve is exasperated but still smiling, letting Villanelle know it’s okay to tease. “It’s fine when there’s the barrier of technology and the city of London between us. Whole other kettle of fish when it’s just a table and Prosecco.”

“Kettle of fish?” Villanelle asks, unfamiliar with what Eve has said. She gets the same feeling she always does when someone says something she doesn’t understand: irritation at not knowing mixed with the excitement of learning. 

“Oh, uh,” Eve starts, “it means a mess? An awkward or difficult situation.”

Villanelle tilts her head. 

“Why?”

“I… honestly do not know.” Eve says, momentarily furrowing her brow. “English is a weird language.”

Villanelle hums, and moves on.

“So, text flirting is a different kettle of fish to out loud flirting?”

“Exactly!” Eve says happily.

“But why is it?”

Eve stops, brow furrowed in thought. 

“Because… because in person… you’re right there. You are sitting right there in real time and you could… not like something I say, or laugh at me for real, or reject me, or something. I don’t know.”

It’s sweet, how shy Eve suddenly seems to be.

“Okay.” Villanelle nods slowly. “Let’s try this. How do I look today?”

“Um… you look good?”

It’s a start. 

“Thank you, Eve.” Villanelle purrs. “You look good too. That blouse looks so nice on you.” At this, Villanelle reaches the short distance across the table and rests her fingers gently on Eve’s arm, fingertips softly touching the material. “Oh, is it silk?”

Eve is wide eyed again. 

“It’s- it’s polyester, I think, let me check-”

Eve starts to awkwardly reach toward the collar of her blouse, and Villanelle rolls her eyes. 

“Wow, you  _ are _ bad at this.” 

With a small groan, Eve drops her face into her hands. 

“I’ve not flirted in seventeen years!” She whines, muffled by her palms. “And never with a woman! Cut me some slack.”

And she’s right, Villanelle realises, this is new for Eve, she doesn’t know the rules or the boundaries, and she deserves a little help. Help that Villanelle is willing to give, if it means she can reap the rewards. 

“I’m sorry.” Villanelle offers, sincerely. “We can go back to talking like normal, it is okay.”

She slides her chair around the high, round table as she speaks, until there are only a couple of inches between their shoulders. Villanelle tentatively places a hand on one, and Eve turns to look at her. 

“But I want to be able to… flirt.” Eve says it like it’s an awkward word to make. “I want to be able to tell you easily that you look good today. Because you do, you look incredible. Those trousers and that blazer are  _ doing _ things for me, you know? You’re wearing a  _ tie _ , for Christ’s sake! And when your hair is like that, all sleek in a ponytail?” Eve blows out a breath and darts her eyes to the ceiling. 

Villanelle wonders if Eve realises what she has just said. What she has done. 

Staying quiet, silently begging for more, Villanelle’s heart flutters as she feels her cheeks flush, heat starting to dip between her legs. 

When Eve looks back, her brown eyes are darker. 

“The way you handled yourself in that meeting?” Even her voice is darker, deeper, quieter, and despite the noisy bar, Villanelle hears her clearly. “God, you were so  _ confident _ . You moved and spoke like you had complete control, and they knew it. We  _ all _ knew it. You were the boss. It was so… It was...”

Eve trails off as if realising what she’s been saying, and Villanelle leans closer, into her space. 

“It was  _ what _ , Eve?” She murmurs.

Eve sighs shakily. Villanelle feels it on her lips. 

“ _ Hot _ .”

And this is the moment. 

This is the moment when, in any other universe with any other beautiful woman, she would lean in and kiss her. 

But this is not another universe, and not another beautiful woman. 

And it  _ pains _ Villanelle. 

“Eve.” She whispers softly. 

“Hm?” 

The hum is breathy and unfocused, and Villanelle’s eyelids almost flutter at the sound. 

“I could lose my job.” She fills the space between them with her regret. “I could lose everything I’ve worked for if this got out.”

“What if…” Eve murmurs, “what if we don’t let it? We could… it could be a secret.”

And god she wants to, she wants to agree and have Eve, have her as this special secret, all for her, all for herself, but something stops her. 

Is it her conscience? Her moral standing? Her various degree certificates, framed on the wall in her office?

Something stops her. 

Villanelle doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t want to stop or pull away but she has to, she really has to, because if this happens? Then it’s over for Villanelle. It sounds dramatic in her mind but she knows, suddenly and without a single doubt, that if she kisses Eve now then she will never be able to stop. 

The thought overwhelms Villanelle. 

She wants nothing but Eve, this woman she met weeks ago, this woman she’s had dinner with four times, this woman she watched Twilight for, and wow was that a sacrifice of time. 

It’s not love. 

But it’s too much. 

Villanelle pulls back. 

“I’m sorry,” she sighs, “I want to, but-”

“No, no you’re right.” Eve hurries on before clearing her throat. “You’re absolutely right. It’s unprofessional and could cost you a lot. Could cost us  _ both _ a lot. God.  _ I’m _ sorry.” 

Villanelle stares at Eve, her tanned skin slightly pink at the cheeks, and dark eyes shining. 

“Do you know how much I want to kiss you?” Villanelle murmurs, and Eve gives a breathless laugh. 

“Maybe, um-” Eve cuts herself off and frowns quickly, nips her lip as she stares at the table. She shakes her head softly. “No.”

“Go on.” Villanelle urges. 

“Okay. Maybe… we could… after?”

After. 

That had not even crossed her mind. 

After?

Villanelle has never had to wait for a woman before. Has never  _ wanted _ to. 

She looks at Eve. 

And she wants to. 

“After.” Villanelle repeats, sounding almost dazed when she hears herself speak. “Once this is over?”

Eve shrugs, a crooked smile on her face, soft at the edges. Villanelle sighs. 

“I have never had to wait.” She tells Eve honestly. 

“Well… do you think you could? Do you… want to? It’s okay if you don’t-”

“I could. I do.”

Eve grins shyly, and picks her glass up. 

“Okay then.” Eve says quietly, then drinks. 

Villanelle watches the gentle stretch of Eve’s neck as she leans back slightly, tilting the glass to her mouth. She watches her throat as she swallows, watches her tongue flick out to catch the taste on her lips, watches the way her dark eyes catch Villanelle’s. They sparkle. 

_ After _ . 

“Do you want to stay at mine again tonight?”

Villanelle has asked the question before she can’t stop herself, and Eve’s eyes widen. 

“I mean,” Villanelle hurries on, “stay in the annex. You, in the annex, I mean. But we could watch a movie?”

Eve bites her lip and smiles softly. 

“Okay.”

There’s no controlling how wide Villanelle grins. 

“Okay.”

_ After _ .

Villanelle has never had to wait before.

Now, she’s willing to. 

And it might kill her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that I’m taking a few artistic liberties with the law proceedings here! So... shout out to any lawyers going ‘well that ain’t right...’. Believe me, I’ve already heard it from my best mate! Thank you best mate :)


	17. Whiplash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am 100% pro sex workers, just FYI.
> 
> Have some domesticity that came outta nowhere!

Before Eve’s eyes blink open, she knows it’s early.

She’s used to waking up at around half 7 before chugging a coffee then sprinting to the bus stop, trailing bland cereal bar crumbs behind her. 

Today though, today there’s an air of peace in the world she’s awoken into. When she checks her phone and sees that it’s barely half six, she sighs happily. Stretching languidly, she checks in with herself. 

Her body feels good, her mind feels good, and the sheets feel really, really good. 

And then the previous night flashes through her mind. 

Huh. She still feels good. 

After drinks, Villanelle and Eve had headed back to Villanelle’s gorgeous house and enjoyed a few episodes of the completely bizarre court show the blonde liked so much. She’d tried to explain it to Eve but it hadn’t clicked, and eventually Eve found she wasn’t following the dumb cases at all, and was simply laughing at the dramatic soundtrack and the beyond ridiculous expressions on everyone’s faces. 

Eve went to bed after that, a soft goodnight exchanged between the two but nothing serious said. They didn’t touch upon what they’d spoken about in the bar, not out of awkwardness but out of some silent agreement that no more needed to be said. 

Not yet, anyway. 

And god, the bar. 

It makes Eve shiver just thinking about it. 

It had gone from zero to one hundred real fucking fast, and a good chunk of that was because of Eve. It makes her smile proudly to herself as she stretches once more against the soft sheets of Villanelle’s annex bed. 

There was no hiding from it now; Eve wanted Villanelle, and Villanelle wanted her right back. It was an amazing feeling. Every time Eve had looked at the blonde after that, she’d felt her heart jump. To feel wanted was so… foreign to her. After years of a stagnant marriage, Eve was remembering what it felt like to be desired. 

And she liked it. 

She peeks golden sunlight trying to break through the cracks in the wooden blinds, so Eve sits up. One last stretch and she’s out of bed, hopping in the en suite’s shower for a quick wash before dressing for her day. 

When she checks the time it’s only just now reached half six. Not used to being up this early, she’s at a bit of a loss for what to do. She pulls up the blinds and stares up at Villanelle’s house. 

The woman does have a very fancy coffee machine that Eve’s pretty sure she could work out how to use…

Eve grabs her bag and the keys to the house and heads into the garden, locking the annex door behind her. 

When she steps through the french doors into Villanelle’s kitchen, it seems still. No one has been in here yet, judging by how neat everything looks. Villanelle may be incredibly organised and efficient in her work, but at home she is not. She’s clean, sure, but  _ messy _ . She’s like a Tasmanian devil, whipping through rooms and leaving everything disturbed and out of place until she whirls back in again to put it all back. 

Eve has seen it first hand, seen the destruction that Villanelle can create only to fix half an hour later. It’s borderline impressive. 

After Eve shuts the doors and walks around the island counter to the coffee machine, she picks up on the sound of running water. It’s soft, hushed through a wall, but Eve recognises it as the shower. Villanelle must be getting ready. 

It doesn’t take long to figure the coffee machine out, and soon Eve is sitting at the dining table with a steaming mug of gold roast in her hands, staring to her left through the wide windows at the sun dappled garden. 

The bathroom is in a room off the hallway, which itself opens into the open plan living and kitchen area. Eve can look down that wide hallway and see the doors leading to other rooms from her seat at the table. She looks down it for a moment and listens to the quiet hum of Villanelle singing, and she smiles. 

Glancing back out at the garden, Eve sees a squirrel scampering down the large tree near the fence. She watches it reach the ground and sit still, listening, before snuffling at the grass. 

It’s such a sweet little thing, its movements so sharp it almost seems like a tiny robot, some kind of advanced animatronic planted in plain sight. The birds are chirping happily in the early morning sunlight and Eve closes her eyes and just listens for while, mind empty. 

Then a noise down the hallway startles her and she turns her head instinctively, and sees-

“Oh my gosh!” Eve yelps.

She slaps her hands over her eyes, but not before seeing Villanelle, a very very  _ naked _ Villanelle, skidding back into the bathroom with her own squeak of surprise. 

“I didn’t hear you come in!” Eve hears Villanelle shout from the open bathroom door, mirth in her voice. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

Villanelle starts laughing, the sound echoing in the small tiled room down the hall. 

“It is fine, really, I am not shy!”

“Okay,” Eve says loudly, awkwardly, “but… but I saw your boobs.”

“That’s okay.” Villanelle’s laughter dies down to a chuckle. “I’m putting a towel on, don’t worry.”

Eve takes a moment to breathe as she hears Villanelle move about the bathroom. Because… wow. Villanelle naked was… a sight to behold, to say the least. Smooth pale skin dewy from the shower, hair darkened with water against her shoulders, cheeks pink from the heat, the perfect curves of her-

She clears her throat, thoughts still spinning and blocking her filter.

“Jesus  _ Christ _ you are hot. Do you know that?”

The laughter returns from the bathroom, this time even more delighted.

“I have been told...”

And jeez, that cocky attitude really does something for Eve, and sitting here listening to her talk like that while the image of her…  _ assets _ is still fresh in Eve’s mind is just… delicious. Too delicious for before 7am.

“...but it’s nice to hear.”

Eve starts at Villanelle’s follow up comment, then smiles.

“Well… yeah. You are very good looking.”

“Thank you, Eve.”

Eve hears the sound of a light switch flicking, and realises she still has her hands pressed over her eyes. She swallows, shaking herself out of the moment.

She stands.

“Um. I’m going to go now.”

“What?” Villanelle’s voice is clear now, and Eve turns to see the blonde walking towards her with a small frown, wrapped in a large white towel. It helps a little, but Eve knows what she looks like underneath now. “Why? Because you feel awkward? Have you never seen a woman’s body before?”

“Of course I have!” Eve says indignantly.

Villanelle puts her hands on her hips.

“Then what is the problem?

“Because,” Eve fumbles around the words, trying to look only at Villanelle’s face, at curious hazel eyes, “because it’s  _ you _ . It’s  _ your _ body.” Eve swallows again. “You know?”

“Oh.” Villanelle smiles coyly.

“And I’m trying to… behave. So, I’m gonna go.”

“Please stay?” Villanelle asks, smile turning imploring. “I’ll put clothes on?”

“No, I have to go into the office anyway. I’m sorry.” 

“Skip work.” Villanelle shrugs, like it’s the most simple thing in the world.

Eve laughs.

“And how am I supposed to pay for your services if I skip work?”

Villanelle’s head tilts again, and she gives Eve a strange smile.

“You make it sound like I am a sex worker.”

“Well, you get paid about the same.”

“Hm” Villanelle hums thoughtfully, “maybe if this lawyer thing does not work out, I will try that instead.”

“No!”

Eve couldn’t have stopped the outburst if she tried.

She immediately sighs in embarrassment as Villanelle’s smirk returns.

“I mean…” Eve says, clearing her throat to steady her voice, “do whatever you want, I don’t care, it’s your life and your body, your  _ amazing _ body, Jesus, and I am going to go now, goodbye.”

Eve grabs her bag and heads out before she can say anything even more ridiculous, Villanelle’s laughter following her as she goes.

——

When Eve returns to Villanelle’s that evening, she feels more content than she has in a while.

Her day at work had been great. It had been so nice to be in the office again, surrounded by her coworkers and the hustle and bustle of media life. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to be fully immersed in it all, what with the divorce distractions and working from home so much, but heading in had filled some kind of metre within Eve that she hadn’t realised had been running low.

She uses the spare key Villanelle leant her, ‘just in case’ the blonde had said, and lets herself into the house. It’s dark, quiet, Villanelle out for an evening business meeting over drinks with the other lawyers at her firm, but she’d assured Eve it was fine to go in and get her stuff.

Which was Eve’s intention.  _ Is _ Eve’s intention.

She’s going to grab the rest of her stuff from the annex and lug it to Bill’s. Except for the DVDs. And books. And a couple other bits that wouldn’t make sense to bring with her to Bill’s. It would just clutter his place up. She may as well leave that stuff here, because she’ll probably stop by here to hang out with Villanelle at various points? It makes sense.

She flicks on the lamp by the sofa and drops down onto it, heaving a happy sigh as she sinks into the plush cushions. The day had been great but exhausting, with a lot to catch up on and meetings to squeeze in throughout, including an hour and a half with Carolyn to discuss upcoming schedules, and Eve is tired.

Dropping her bag to the floor, Eve rolls onto her side and settles her head against one of Villanelle’s colourful throw cushions. It’s warm in here, and the glow from the lamp is pretty, and Eve is just going to relax for a little bit. It’s only just 7pm, so she has time. She’ll relax a minute, then pack, then be on her way.

She blinks her eyes open a moment later and is faced with a grin.

“Ah!” Eve shouts, jerking her head backwards away from the smile, which spreads and starts to laugh. “What the hell?”

“Hello, sleepyhead.”

“Villanelle?” Eve mumbles, heart rate slowing down again as she rubs her eyes. “What’s happening?”

“You were asleep.”

“No I wasn’t.” Eve pushes herself up. Her hair flops in front of her face but she can’t quite bring herself to shove it aside yet. “I was just resting for a second.”

“I made a lot of noise when I got in, because I did not know you were here. And then I saw on you on the sofa and nearly killed you.”

“What?”

“I didn’t know you were here!” Villanelle says again. “It concerned me. I thought someone had broken in and passed out. A really shitty burglar.”

“Sorry,” Eve sighs sleepily, finally dragging her hair back, “didn’t mean to scare you.”

Villanelle shrugs.

“Figured it out pretty quick. I’d know that hair anywhere.” The blonde smiles softly as her gaze glances over the undoubtedly messy curls.

“What are you doing here? I didn’t think you’d be back ‘til 8?”

“It  _ is _ 8.”

“What? No it isn’t.” Eve blinks hard and shakes out her hands, trying to bring herself into the present. 

She takes in Villanelle’s appearance, her emerald green suit trousers and blazer, her crisp white shirt open to reveal only a glimpse of cleavage. It helps wake Eve up, suddenly alert at how good Villanelle looks and how close she’s leaning towards her.

“It is, Eve. It’s 8. How long have you been asleep?”

“An hour, I guess.” Eve says, a little surprised at herself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep here. I’ll get out of your hair.”

But when Eve makes to stand, Villanelle presses her hand against her chest, effectively pushing her back down.

“No,” Villanelle says simply, “you are tired, you will stay. At least for dinner.”

And, well, Eve isn’t going to say no to dinner being cooked for her.

“Are you good at cooking?” Eve asks as Villanelle retreats. The blonde sheds her blazer and drapes it over a dining chair as she heads into the kitchen. Eve gets on her knees and turns to lean her arms against the back of the sofa, chin resting on them.

“Yes,” Villanelle replies, “I like cooking. It is satisfying. Do you like fish?”

Villanelle starts to roll her sleeves up, folding white fabric over and over with long, delicate fingers, pushing the folds up to reveal sun-kissed forearms and slim wrists. It fits with the look, adds to the imposing vibe she has going for her in the impeccably tailored suit.

“Eve?”

“What?”

“I asked if you like fish.”

“Oh!” And Villanelle must see her blush, because she throws her a small smirk before turning to the cupboards. Eve feels her cheeks flush further at being caught. “Fish. Yes, I do.”

“Good, because we are having herb crusted salmon.”

“Can I help?” Eve clambers over the back of the sofa and heads towards the kitchen, but Villanelle spins around to face her, pointing the frying pan she’s retrieved from the cupboard at her.

“No, no!” She says. “I’ve got it, do not worry. Please, just relax. Do you want a beer? There’s some in the fridge.”

“Okay,” Eve says with a slowly growing smile. She heads to the fridge and grabs a bottle of peroni. “Do you want one?”

“Please.” Villanelle nods.

Eve takes the two bottles and turns back to the kitchen, only to see that Villanelle has already pulled open the drawer with the bottle opener in, now facing away to grab spices from a shelf. Eve smiles at how well they seem to work together.

She pops the caps off and slides a bottle next to Villanelle before heading back around the island and taking a seat at one of the stools.

“Go sit on the couch Eve, it’s more comfortable.”

“I don’t want to.” Eve says. “I want to talk to you.”

Villanelle smiles, almost shyly, as she looks down at the wrapped fish in her hands, and then she gets to work.

——

“What are you doing now?”

“Brushing the melted butter onto the fillets.”

“Okay… what’s next?”

“Next I’ll cover them in the crumb mixture I made.”

“Of course. Okay what about after that?”

“Eve, do you know how to cook?”

“Yes I know how to cook, c’mon.”

“Then why are you asking me for a running commentary on putting bread crumbs onto a fillet?”

“I’m… curious.”

“You can’t cook.”

“Hey! I make a mean ravioli, okay?”

“Oh. From fresh?”

“...fresh from the tin, yeah.”

“Eve.”

——

The food is delicious, which Eve had fully expected. Obviously Villanelle was fantastic at cooking, on top of everything else.

“Is there anything you’re not good at?” Eve asks around a mouthful of crunchy topped salmon.

Villanelle hums and twiddles her fork in her fingers. 

“I am not good at singing.”

Eve perks up at this. 

“Really? You look like you would be.”

“Yes, but I am not.” Villanelle shrugs. “My uncle says I have the voice of a dying bird. Does not stop me from singing around him though.” She smiles with wide, mischievous eyes as she pops some flaky fish into her mouth. 

“I can sing.”

Villanelle tilts her head. 

“Can you?”

“Mm,” Eve nods, “I can. Or so I’ve been told.”

“Sing something.” Villanelle says, sitting up straight and putting her fork down. Eve laughs. 

“No,” she says, “I don’t just… do it on command. That would be weird.”

“Please?” Villanelle asks, clasping her hands in front of her as if she’s trying to appear well behaved. “I promise I will stop teasing you for your lack of cooking skill.”

“Tempting,” Eve chuckles, “but no. Not tonight. Maybe one day.”

“Okay.” Villanelle seems defeated at first, but then she smiles at Eve, looking at her through her lashes as she picks up her fork again. “One day.”

Eve smiles too, savouring the tender moment, hanging in the air between them like a soft mist. 

“Can’t dance though.” She says, and Villanelle laughs. 

“If you can move part of your body, you can dance.” She tells Eve. “I would like to dance with you.”

Eve would like that too. 

The meal is almost finished and the rest goes by in comfortable silence until Eve offers to clean up. 

“Just put it all in the dishwasher,” Villanelle says, getting up, “I will sort it out later.” 

“It’s already nearly 9.” Eve bends to load the dishwasher. 

“Eh, it is fine. Do you want to watch a movie?”

“Again, it’s nearly 9. I should probably get going.”

“Just stay here Eve, for the night.”

“I shouldn’t-”

“One more night!” Villanelle says with big, pleading eyes. “It is late, you are tired. One more night won’t hurt.”

Eve twists her lips in thought, rooted to the spot by the dishwasher and staring into the sitting area where Villanelle is now sitting on the couch.

“I will let you pick the movie?”

Something in Eve stops half-heartedly fighting.

“Fine.” She sighs dramatically, hiding a smile as she heads through and drops next to Villanelle. “Go get us beer.”

“You were literally just in the kitchen.”

“Do you want me to stay or not?”

Villanelle raises her eyebrows as her lips quirk. 

“Bossy,” she says, “I like it.” And then she winks as she gets up.

A wink has Eve’s heart thudding once, heavy and off kilter. A  _ wink _ . She shouldn’t be staying. 

But she is. 

She loads up Netflix and quickly selects something while Villanelle’s back is turned. 

“Oh, not that Twilight film though.” Villanelle’s half shouts with her face in the fridge. 

“Noted!”

When Villanelle returns and hands Eve her beer, she relaxes back into the couch and props her long legs up on the coffee table. She groans when she looks up at the screen. 

“I said no Twilight!” She practically wails. 

“You said ‘not that Twilight film’,” Eve says innocently, “this isn’t that film. This is the second one.”

“Oh my god, there are two of them?” Villanelle moans, staring incredulously at Eve. 

“Sweetheart,” Eve shakes her head,” we’re not even halfway through.”

Villanelle drops her head against the back of the couch. 

“Why do you hate me? Did you not like the salmon? Was it the teasing, is that it?”

“Stop being a baby and watch the damn vampires.”

Villanelle huffs but she stops complaining, just takes a long sip of beer before settling further back into the cushions. She looks so petulant. 

It’s adorable. 

“Can I put my feet in your lap?” 

Villanelle wrinkles her nose. 

“Ew.”

“Okay okay.” Eve scoffs, starting to curl her legs tighter beneath herself until Villanelle hand darts out fast and wraps around Eve’s ankle. 

“No, I was joking.” She says softly. “You can rest your feet on me.” Villanelle tugs a little at Eve’s ankle until she relents and stretches her legs, dropping her feet into the blonde’s warm lap. Villanelle pats them. 

“Cute socks.” She says, running a fingertip along the fuzzy red and blue fabric. Eve wiggles her foot. 

“Don’t, I’m ticklish.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. She knows that as soon as Villanelle’s eyebrows finish their slow journey upwards. 

“Good to know.” She says quietly with a smirk. 

“Don’t get any ideas.” Eve warns. “Now let's watch the vampires. This one isn’t so bad, I promise.”

Villanelle grumbles in disagreement but settles further anyway, draping her hands across Eve’s ankles in a comforting weight.

Eve takes a moment to appreciate the domesticity of the situation. It should scare her, she thinks. It should freak her out or concern her or something, but instead she just feels comfortable. Happy. Light. 

She sinks into it, lets it saturate her, filling her up with a heavy feeling of home that she hasn’t felt in a long time and thinks that maybe she shouldn’t be feeling now, here. But if Eve’s learnt anything recently, it’s to not deny her feelings. She feels what she feels, and that’s it. 

A quick glance at Villanelle tells Eve that the blonde is in fact concentrating on the movie, despite her outburst. 

And for some reason, that makes Eve feel even lighter. 

“Why do you like these movies, Eve?”

Eve hadn’t even noticed that Villanelle had turned her head, and was now staring straight back at her. 

Eve blinks. 

“Oh,” she starts, “I just do.”

“But why?”

Eve is getting used to Villanelle’s persistence in her questioning, finds it endearing, even. 

“I don’t know. I like vampires I guess.”

Villanelle hums thoughtfully, then indicates the screen. 

“But why?”

With a laugh, Eve shrugs casually. 

“I think they’re sexy.”

Villanelle’s jaw drops and Eve laughs. The blonde looks like she’s been given a brand new toy to play with. 

“You think they are  _ sexy _ ?” She gasps, open mouth stretching into a grin. “Is it the sparkles? The pale skin? The teeth?”

Eve shrugs again and wiggles her feet in Villanelle’s lap, jostling the other woman who clamps her hands harder against Eve’s ankles to stop her jiggling. 

“I don’t know! They’re fast and they’re strong. They’re just… mysterious? I like mysterious.”

“Am I mysterious?” Villanelle asks her, one eyebrow raised. Eve throws her a playful glare. 

“Yes Villanelle,” Eve drawls back, “you are.”

Villanelle looks pleased with herself as she stares at the screen once more, and her fingers trace over Eve’s ankles for a moment, absentmindedly. Eve feels her skin tingle softly. It makes her bold. 

“I also like when they bite.”

Villanelle looks back at Eve slowly, the quirked eyebrow different now, more intrigued, more serious than before. 

There’s a beat of silence.

“You like biting, Eve?” And then Villanelle is turning on the couch, and crawling towards her, over her. Eve’s heart stops in her chest as Villanelle slinks forward, every bit the predator Eve had seen yesterday in the conference room, every bit the commanding, confident woman Eve knows Villanelle to be in a business setting. 

Except this is a home setting. A casual setting. 

The contrast has Eve almost sweating. 

Villanelle works her way up the the couch, one leg between Eve’s to keep herself from falling off, both elbows landing either side of her shoulders. She’s keeping herself from touching Eve, their chests a couple of inches apart, but if she changes her breathing to match Villanelle’s then they brush on every inhale. 

“What are you doing?” Eve murmurs, alight with tension. Villanelle smirks down at her. 

“I cannot believe you think vampire bites are sexy.” Villanelle says, her voice huskier than before. “What is it you like?”

“It’s…” Eve tries, but the closeness is killing her and she has to restart, “it’s the primalness of it, I think.”

“Ah,” Villanelle’s smirk is intense at this distance, “the need? The hunger?”

Eve exhales. 

“Yes.” 

And then Villanelle is lowering her face until Eve can feel hot breath on her neck. She wants to swallow or gasp, but she will not fucking ruin this moment by moving even an  _ inch _ , no way. She can smell Villanelle’s perfume from this close, can feel the softness of honey hair brush her jawline, can feel a gentle weight against her breasts that only speeds up Eve’s heart rate, faster and faster until all Eve can hear is the thundering of her own pulse and the delicate whisper of Villanelle’s voice. 

“Well then,” and Eve swears she feels the tip of Villanelle’s nose nudge the pulse point on her neck before a chuckle moistens the skin there, “we will have to explore that. After.”

And then the breath is gone, the warmth is gone, the weight is gone, and Villanelle is clambering backwards to curl back into her corner of the sofa. 

Eve lets out a huge breath. 

“Fuck.” She gasps. “You suck, you know that?”

“No, not until  _ after _ , Eve.”

The nearest throw cushion to Eve’s hand is flung, and it hits Villanelle square in the face. 

“Hey!” She cries, tossing the pillow onto the floor. Eve pushes herself up and throws another cushion. “Stop that!”

You dick,” Eve huffs as she gives up on throwing cushions and instead just starts beating her with one, Villanelle’s gasping laughter and indignant squawks muffled by Eve’s furious blows. “You are such a tease! And now I’m so.. I’m…”

Villanelle finally grabs at the weaponised pillow and holds it still, easily keeping a firm grasp even as Eve struggles. 

“You’re what, Eve?”

“Oh, no,” Eve shakes her head, “we’re not playing the question and answer game again. You can torture yourself with guessing.”

“I do not think it will be hard to guess, if it is anything like I am feeling right now.” 

And god, where does Villanelle get off, saying things like that, affecting Eve this way? 

Eve swallows hard. 

“Can we just watch the movie please?”

“Okay.” Villanelle smiles, then she pats her lap. “Feet?”

Eve scowls and brings her knees up to her chest. Villanelle rolls her eyes. 

“I promise I will behave,” and then a lift of her eyebrows and a small smile. “Please?”

With a dramatic sigh and a great deal of fanfare, Eve stretches her legs and drops her feet into Villanelle’s lap, who giggles at Eve’s showy production. A giggle coming from the woman who just almost  _ bit _ her is giving Eve whiplash.

And when delicate fingers start softly stroking Eve’s ankles, Eve decides that she’ll gladly suffer this whiplash for as long as she can get it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eve loves vampires, canon. Read imunbreakabledude’s vamp fics for proof.
> 
> Come chat on twitter @fixyfics :) not @fixy, that’s a poor innocent man named Andrew who keeps getting tagged


	18. I can be good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that I’m taking creative liberties with the law! And! Pickles are okay!

Villanelle is  _ not _ a woman of simple pleasures. 

Rather, she is a woman of many pleasures, from the small to the large and everything in between. 

She likes it all, she wants it all, and she has most of it. 

Someone once asked her what she will do when she ‘has it all’, but Villanelle did not understand the question. 

There is always more to have. 

If you get to the bottom of your list, make a new one. 

She has a fast car, gorgeous furniture, a beautiful house in a stylish part of an amazing city. She has a great job, lots of money, one or two friends and a kitchen with a dishwasher. She has good art on the walls, good food in the fridge and good vibrators in her drawer, and really, what else is there to want? 

Eve. 

She wants Eve. 

And she can have her, after. 

_ After _ . 

A torturous thing, but so sweet. 

And oh, is Villanelle enjoying the pain of waiting. 

——

Four days pass, and Eve does not stay at hers. 

They text a little, they meet for a quick coffee once on their lunch break, but Eve does not come to her house or stay over. 

It is probably for the best. 

Villanelle does not really know what she was doing with the whole  _ biting _ thing. It was just too tempting, too hard to resist some seductive teasing in a moment like that. Eve had practically presented herself with that ‘I like when they bite’ comment, so what was she supposed to do? Villanelle prides herself on her reactions, it is part of her job and part of her perfected seduction technique, and so… she reacted. 

She did not think it through. 

It resulted in her having to pull away, underwear damp but mouth dry, the lingering warm scent of Eve’s skin, the lavender and ylang ylang notes in her hair. Eve did not fare any better, if her dark eyes and the rapid fall of her chest could be trusted. 

Villanelle will be smarter, next time. She will… behave. 

Eve just makes it so  _ difficult _ .

And the fact that Eve clearly does not see herself as someone worthy of attention makes it all the more tempting for Villanelle to act on her desires, to show Eve that yes, she wants her, and yes, she is desirable. 

Villanelle swings in her office chair and clicks her pen a few times, a habit she has been told she has but does not try to quit. She stops when she’s facing the window and looks out over the rooftops and into the windows of their skyscraper neighbours. She could watch for hours, making up stories and lives for the tiny blurred figures she sees moving about. She contemplates doing it now, letting her mind run, but a knock disturbs her. 

There is only one person who knocks without buzzing through to her intercom. 

“You better have a sandwich for me.” She calls out in greeting.

The door swings open and in walks Konstantin, his large bulk and dark coat creating a formidable figure to most, but an overstuffed teddy bear to Villanelle. He holds something small and paper-wrapped in his hands, and she grins. 

“You  _ did _ bring me a sandwich!”

He nods and waves the sandwich as he closes the door behind him, then makes his way over to her desk. He doesn’t sit right away, he never does, preferring to sit only when he knows he’ll be sat for a while. 

Villanelle makes a grabby motion with her hand. 

“What did you get me?”

Konstantin begins unwrapping the package with thick fingers, looking at Villanelle from under his brow. 

“Pastrami and pickles.”

She wrinkles her nose and jerks back. 

“Pickles? They are so gross, why would you get me pickles?”

“You don’t like pickles?” He asks, looking overly curious. She huffs. 

“No!”

“Hm.” He hums, weighing up this new fact that Villanelle is certain he already knows. “Okay then.”

“It is fine,” she grumbles, “I will still eat-”

Villanelle groans as he takes a massive bite of sandwich. 

“You did not buy the sandwich for me, did you.”

Konstantin guffaws around his mouthful. 

“No, Oksana, of course I didn’t. Get your own lunch.”

She rolls her eyes and spins back round in her chair, back to the window. 

“Don’t call me that at the office, it could-”

“-damage your image, soften the Villanelle persona, I know, I know.” He says, sounding bored. “But there is no one else here.”

Villanelle can see two tiny figures across the road in one of the windows, either arguing or talking animatedly. Maybe one stole a stapler? Maybe they both watched the new episode of some popular TV show?

“We need to talk.”

Villanelle sighs a little before swinging her chair back around. 

“About what?”

“About you.”

“My favourite subject.” Villanelle flutters her eyelashes dramatically. “What about me? Another pay rise? I am a partner here, you know, I can just give myself one, we don’t need to do this whole office chat thing.”

Konstantin chuckles and nods, flapping the sandwich at her a bit as he finally sits. Villanelle glares as a blob of mustard falls out and splats onto the carpet. 

“You are funny.” He says, taking another bite. “Your clients like you and the funny helps, I think.”

“They come for the brains and stay for the humour.” Villanelle shrugs. “And the charm.”

“The charm, yes.” Konstantin repeats, slowing his hand as it brings the sandwich back to his mouth. He pauses, fixing her with a searching look. “You wouldn’t be charming any of your current clients, would you?”

“I charm all of my clients.” Villanelle tells him. “I cannot help that I am so likeable.”

“True, it is one of the things that make you such a good lawyer.” He nods again. “But, Villanelle, there is a difference between charming someone, and  _ charming _ someone.”

Villanelle narrows her eyes slightly and straightens up. 

“What?”

He takes another bite. 

“You heard what I said, do not play stupid. You are getting too close to one of your clients.”

“And how would you know that?” Villanelle asks calmly despite the rising frustration in her chest. 

“I know everything.”

“Is my room bugged?”

“No, that is illegal.” He shoves the last bit of sandwich into his mouth, chewing and dusting his hands off. 

“Yes it is.” She says slowly. “So, did you?”

“No, I have not bugged the room, do not be paranoid.” He admonishes her. “I just know things, okay? Now, we must talk about it.”

“Must we?” Villanelle whines, and she feels herself slip back into teenager mode, despite being joint partner of this law firm with the greying man in front of her. “I have work to do.”

“Oh? What are you working on today.”

Villanelle blinks. 

“The Portman case.”

“Ah. And how is that going?”

“Fine.” She replies. 

“Because usually,” Konstantin says, that searching look back, “usually you would have finished a project like this by now.”

“It is nearly finished.” She says defensively. “I hit a snag.”

“A snag, okay. And would this snag happen to go by the name of Eve Polastri?”

Villanelle’s lips twist unhappily for a millisecond, but she quickly forces them to relax. Too late though, judging by the knowing smirk on Konstantin’s face. 

“She is my client, her divorce case is messy, she needs extra attention.”

“Extra attention,” he chuckles, “is that what we are calling it now?”

Villanelle sets her shoulders, tense. 

“What is that supposed to-”

“Nothing. I am not saying anything, Villanelle.” He lifts his hands, his face calm. “I am in no place to make assumptions. But... I am warning you.”

The tension is still there in Villanelle, but it’s starting to turn into something close to apprehension. She says nothing, and so Konstantin continues. 

“You must be careful. You know I do not mind you becoming friends with clients as long as you keep it quiet, but I feel as though this one may be different. Is this one different?”

He is looking at her in the way he used to when she was a child. It’s caring, imploring, and concerned. It says he wants the best for her, but is worried that she is going to fall and hurt herself first.

“Is this a business concern, or a personal concern.”

“It is both, Oksana.” He says quietly. “I do not want you to do something that could put your hard work in jeopardy. I also do not want you to do something that could put your  _ heart _ in jeopardy.”

“Ew.” Villanelle murmurs, and he nods. 

“Yes, I know, I am gross.” He says gruffly. He sits back and runs his hand over his beard. “But I care about you, little ox. You are one of the best, and you will stay that way if you continue the amazing work that you do.”

“Are you saying that…” she tries to find the words without saying them, “that I could be distracted from work by a… a someone?”

“No,” he shakes his head and leans forward, “I am married, it would be hypocritical of me to say that. No, I am worried that you will make an impulse decision  _ before _ this case is over, and it will ruin you.”

“Jesus, you are dramatic.”

“Do not play,” he says sternly and points a finger, “this is not a game. It will not only be you that goes down, remember? I am here too. I am your business partner, and your family. If you sleep with a client and it gets out, you will lose business, and I will lose business because of that. Do not do that to me.”

“Is that not a bit selfish?” Villanelle mumbles, looking down in her lap with a frown, feeling every bit the scolded child. His laugh snaps her attention back up to his face. 

“Now I know you do not believe that.” He says, getting irritated himself now. “You are grasping at straws to get out of this. The only selfish move here would be you bringing us down by fucking a client.”

“I’m not going to fuck her!” Villanelle throws her arms up. “Will you  _ stop _ ? I am not a fool, I know the rules! I will not touch Eve Polastri until...”

His eyebrows shoot up. 

“Until?” He prompts. 

Villanelle looks up at the ceiling, and pouts. 

“After.”

A pause. 

“After?”

When she looks back down, he has softened. 

“Yes, after. We have… talked about it.”

“You spoke to a-”

“Yes,” she snaps, tired of all these questions, “I spoke to a client about when I will fuck her, okay? Sorry.”

He scoffs. 

“I was going to say ‘you spoke to a woman about the future’.”

With a swallow, she realises what he is saying. 

“Oh,” she mumbles, “yes. She is… we talked about it. About… after. Doing something after.”

Konstantin looks stunned, and Villanelle doesn’t know whether to feel insulted or to laugh at his clear surprise. 

“Wow.” He says with a laugh. “I never thought… wow. Okay. Well. That is… nice? For you?”

“Thanks?” She says with the same questioning tone, feeling awkward now that the conversation has shifted to personal territory so dramatically. 

“Are you… are you sure?” He asks, expression morphing into something more serious. “She is going through a divorce, Oksana, her emotions must be a mess right now. Are you sure-”

“Yes, I am sure.” Villanelle says quickly. 

She is sure.

But Konstantin is making her nervous, and if she lets herself think, really think, then she might be less sure. The thought of being less sure that Eve won’t change her mind, won’t leave Villanelle once this is over and she is free… it does not sit well with her. It makes her feel… nauseous. 

“Okay,” he nods, “sorry, I just do not want to see you get hurt when you clearly like this woman.” He chuckles again in amazement. “ _ After _ . Wow.”

Agitation is settling over Villanelle, an itchy blanket she is desperate to kick away. 

“Was there anything else?” She tries to ask casually, like she is unaffected, but he sees through it and smiles sympathetically. 

“No, that was all.”

He is giving her a break, she knows. Can tell by the worried lines around his eyes that he wants to press and push, but is cutting her some slack. He can read her like no one else can.

“Well then I will get back to work.” He tells her. When he stands, she does too, out of habit. He walks around the table, and puts one of his giant hands on her left shoulder. “I want you to be happy, little ox, but I also want you to be employed.”

She laughs at that, despite herself, and he smiles deeply before pulling her into a hug. At first she is stiff, but his warmth seeps into her bones in an instant and she finds her arms wrapping around his large frame automatically. 

“I want you to be happy  _ after _ . Okay?”

“Okay.” Her voice is muffled against his coat. “I will be good.”

He takes her shoulders and holds her back, studying her carefully. He sighs. 

“No, you won’t.” He says regrettably, but still smiling. 

And then he pats her cheek, and leaves her office. 

Villanelle looks at the crumpled, greasy paper on her desk.  _ I can be good _ , she thinks. 

Her personal phone buzzes in her bag, and she quickly pulls it out. 

_ Eve: Want to hang out this evening? _

The giddiness almost overwhelms her, but she takes a deep breath. 

_ I can be good _ , she thinks.  _ I can be good. _

——

_ Eve: I’ll be there at 6. _

Villanelle: I will make us a curry!

_ Eve: Sounds good! I’m not staying though.  _

Villanelle: Yes you are

_ Eve: Okay yes I am.  _

——

When the knock on her front door comes, Villanelle is prepping dinner. 

“Come in!” She shouts, hands too busy chopping coriander to answer. 

A moment later and the door opens, revealing Eve, who looks-

Looks  _ good _ . 

“Holy shit, what are you wearing?”

“Oh,” Eve looks down at herself as she drops her bag by the door, “Keiko took me shopping. She said I needed to stop dressing like a ‘sad wife’ and start dressing like a ‘foxy divorcee’.”

“I like Keiko.” Villanelle says without taking her eyes off of Eve. “I mean, your old clothes were fine, but these are...” She trails off, and Eve scoffs. 

“My old clothes were  _ not _ fine.”

“No, they were not.” Villanelle admits with a dazed grin. “But I did not mind them. I would not tell you to dress any differently if you did not want to.”

Eve smiles. 

“Well, anyway. Do you like it?” She says, holding herself still for inspection. Villanelle looks her up and down, can’t stop looking her up and down. 

Eve is wearing a long, mustard yellow wool coat, as vibrant as it is stylish, paired with a floral satin scarf loosely draped around her neck in shades of green and blue. Under the coat Villanelle can see a white shirt with a small collar, simple yet soft looking, which is tucked into a pair of dark tailored trousers. 

It’s casual but it’s fashionable, and it looks  _ perfect _ on Eve. 

“Yes. I like it a lot.” 

Eve beams. 

“Good, me too.” She says happily, now shrugging out of the coat to hang it up. “Never thought I’d be caught dead in yellow.”

“It suits you.” Villanelle says distractedly, but now she’s looking at the tuck of the shirt, showing off Eve’s waist, and how well the trousers fit her legs. She barely notices how close Eve is until the woman clears her throat. 

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything.” Eve laughs, turning to the fridge. “Got any lemon?”

And oh, now Villanelle can see her ass, shaped so nicely in those trousers, and she really does need to meet this Keiko and thank her because  _ wow _ . 

“You’re being weird.”

Villanelle blinks. 

“I am appreciating the view.” She tells Eve before finally turning back to the vegetables in front of her. “That is not weird. You do it to me all the time.”

“I do not!” Eve says, but she’s already turning red at being caught. “I mean… not all the time.”

“Most of the time.” Villanelle smirks. 

“Okay fine, but can you blame me?”

“Can you blame  _ me _ ?”

Eve scowls playfully as she finds a glass jug and fills it with water and ice. It’s warm outside, late May, and the side of the jug starts to sweat. Eve sits on one of the stools at Villanelle’s island and rolls her a lemon, indicating Villanelle should slice it. 

“What curry are you making?”

“Chicken Karahi,” Villanelle says while swapping knives and cutting the lemon quickly, “it is very good, I promise.”

“I believe you,” Eve says. She grabs the cut lemon pieces and drops them into the jug of water before pouring out two glasses, “are you gonna let me help this time?”

“I don’t know, do you know how to use a knife?”

Eve lifts one eyebrow and holds her hand out, palm up. Villanelle chuckles before putting the sharp lemon knife into her hand. 

“Be careful, it’s-” but before she can finish, Eve has done something with the knife, moved it fast in her hand. “Wait, what was that?”

“This?” Eve asks, before doing it again. 

She spins the knife around her fingers, between them, and it takes all of one second to do it but it is fast, the knife slicing circles through the air. 

“What the fuck?” Villanelle murmurs with wide eyes. “Again.”

Eve does it again, and then again and again when Villanelle asks until the fifth time, when Eve laughs and puts the knife down instead.

“Cool, huh?”

It is cool. 

It is also… incredibly hot. 

“Woah,” Villanelle says with a grin, “that is  _ so _ attractive.”

“You think?” Eve laughs in surprise. “It’s just a little trick.”

“I like a girl who knows her way around a knife.” Villanelle purrs before she can stop herself, and this is not behaving, Villanelle, this is not  _ being good _ . So she clears her throat and flashes a flustered Eve a smile. “Anyway, how spicy do you like your curry?”

Eve’s cheeks stay flushed as Villanelle slides the vegetable board and an onion and tomatoes over to her. 

——

Dinner was delicious, obviously, and Eve can actually chop vegetables, which is good to know. 

After cleaning up, Eve heads to the couch with beers for the two of them, Villanelle watching as she goes, eyes drawn again to the trousers, and she swears Eve is walking with more of a swish than usual. 

“Eve.” She drawls from the kitchen, hip leaning against the fridge. 

“Mm?” 

“You are doing that on purpose.”

“Doing what on purpose?” And the innocent eyes Eve pins her with show that she knows exactly what she’s doing. With a wink, Eve continues walking, hips definitely swaying. 

And Villanelle thinks-

Well, she thinks. 

Being good is so  _ hard _ . She deserves to have a little fun too, if Eve is going to be this way. 

“I will be right there,” Villanelle says casually, “I am just going to get changed. You can put stupid part three on, if you want.” And then she walks down the hallway and into her bedroom. 

Long fingers flick delicately from lace to cotton to fleece in her wardrobe, this section reserved for clothes to be slept in or fuck in, until she finds what she’s looking for. 

The silk robe is blue and white, detailed with tigers, and ends around mid thigh. She slips on a soft pair of shorts first, followed by a low cut tank top, then finishes with the robe. The material whispers against her skin. 

She checks herself in the mirror and then dabs the smallest amount of perfume to her neck, enough for Eve to notice but not enough for her to suspect Villanelle has put it on for simply watching a movie. 

Villanelle knows she looks good like this, and her heart rate picks up speed in excitement at seeing Eve’s reaction. She leaves the bedroom and heads back down the hall. 

Without a word, she drops onto the sofa beside Eve, folding her long legs between them while reaching forward for her beer. 

She doesn’t look at Eve, but she can feel Eve look at her. With a smile, she glances to the side. 

“So, are we watching the movie?”

Villanelle tried not to laugh at how firmly Eve’s eyes are fixed on her face, determined not to look down at the expense of chest Villanelle knows is on display, or the legs so close to her own. 

“Yes.” Eve nods, eyes unblinking. “Yes, we are.”

“Okay.” Villanelle smiles, but Eve still doesn’t move. “Uh… now?”

“Yes.” Eve nods again, then seems to come back to herself. “Oh, right, sorry.” She presses play on the remote and settles back into her seat, finally looking away from Villanelle. 

“You look nice, by the way.” Eve tells her with forced calmness. 

Villanelle bites her lip. 

“Thank you, Eve.” She says softly, sweetly. 

“That robe is… very pretty.”

When Eve turns back to look at her again, Villanelle smiles. 

“It is silk, want to feel it?” Untucking her legs, Villanelle shifts closer on the sofa. “Go on, it is very nice.”

“I’m sure it is.” Eve swallows, but she reaches a hand out anyway. Villanelle thinks she is going to go for her sleeve, but Eve surprises her by touching the fabric at her inner thigh instead, a few inches above her knee. 

She holds her breath as Eve strokes the silk there, and it feels almost like the real thing, like skin to skin, like Eve running her fingers along Villanelle’s thigh slowly, softly. 

Villanelle looks away from the motion to find Eve staring at her own hand, watching, enraptured. 

And  _ god _ , does Villanelle  _ want _ . 

It is so sudden, so explosive. 

She wants to pin Eve down, wants to guide her hands beneath her robe, have Eve’s fingertips everywhere, brushing over every sensitive part of her, teasing her, opening her up and  _ filling _ her, touching and tasting and gasping and-

“You’re right, it is nice.” Eve says with a small smile, eyes dark and sparkling in a way that tells Villanelle that Eve knows, she knows what she is doing, she is playing right back. 

This game is exhausting. 

But so  _ good _ .

Villanelle doesn’t move back to her side of the couch.

She catches Eve’s hand, and holds it. 

Carefully, gently, like holding a bird. She lets the arousal within her morph into something sweet instead, a different kind of excitement at being so close to Eve. 

And she smiles, and Eve smiles back. 

“You’re a bit of a softy really, aren’t you.” Eve tells her quietly, settling back against the couch cushions. Villanelle shrugs one shoulder and settles too, keeping hold of Eve’s hand. 

Their fingers tangle. 

They tangle in the way Villanelle wants their bodies to tangle, they wrap and touch and twist, but Villanelle can settle for this. Does not need to settle, actually, because for once this sort of tangle doesn’t bore her or put her off. She has never been one for dating, for taking the time to do things like holding hands or making dinner or cuddling. She is always straight to the point, it’s a build up and then sex and then it’s over.

This does not feel like settling. 

It feels like…  _ before _ . A  _ before _ to the  _ after _ .

It is a different type of tangle, but Villanelle finds it is just as good. Just, different. 

New.

She leans against Eve a little, trying this  _ new different _ out. Her side touches Eve’s gently. 

Then, without saying anything, Eve’s arm lifts and wraps itself around Villanelle, tugging her closer.

“C’mon,” Eve says softly, “you can lean more than that, you’re not too heavy or anything.”

Eve thinks that Villanelle is being careful because she is worried about making Eve uncomfortable with her weight against her. Villanelle almost laughs. 

She does not know it is because Villanelle has never done this before with a woman, has not done this in general since she was a child, with Konstantin’s great paws dragging her in for a cuddle, with her Aunt Natasha pulling her into warming hugs. She thinks that Villanelle does not want to hurt her. 

Villanelle is the one afraid of getting hurt. 

But she looks at Eve and finds those deep brown eyes staring back, and she sees nothing but calm there. She cannot find a trace of regret, not a trace of anything that suggests she is doubting them, doubting Villanelle. There is only warmth there, and a sort of happiness that Villanelle feels must be in her own eyes, too. 

She settles further into Eve, and the arm around her slides to sit more comfortably around her back. Fingers start delicately stroking up and down the silk covering Villanelle’s upper arm, leaving little trails of tingling warmth in their wake. 

It is different, but it is so, so good. 

“Are you okay?” Eve asks. Villanelle can feel the words as well as hear them, her cheek pressed to Eve’s shoulder. She nods so that Eve can feel it too, and then the hand on her arm squeezes once before continuing its trail making. 

Villanelle did not realise that being good could feel this wonderful. 

_ I can be good _ , she thinks happily.  _ I can be good.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on twitter! I don’t bite unless asked, mostly! @fixyfics NOT @fixy


	19. Knifey decor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artistic! Liberties! With the law!

Eve dreams of knives. 

Not in a weird way. She’s not stabbing anyone or getting stabbed or whatever.

No, they’re just… everywhere. 

She’s walking through an apartment and there are knives on the walls like art, on the surfaces like clutter, on windowsills in plant pots like flowers. They’re all over the apartment as if they’ve been used once and then left where there is room, before another was used and met the same discarded fate. And they don’t scare her, she’s not alarmed by the decor, but rather she feels… calm. Normal. As if this is just how things are.

The apartment is large and beautiful, with peeling paper on the walls that just lends a purposeful antique sort of finish to the place. The furniture is clearly expensive and the fridge is full of champagne, and Eve wonders who lives in a place like this.

She keeps walking, taking in the vintage vibe and the increasingly knifey decor until she reaches the bedroom.

Villanelle is on the bed.

She’s casual, in the blue and white robe she was wearing when Eve saw her last, hair piled up on her head in a messy bun, skin glowing golden in the light streaming in from the huge windows.

She looks… effervescent. Ethereal.

“Eve,” she says with a growing smile, “you came.”

“Of course.” Eve replies, even though she doesn’t know where she is. But the more she thinks about it, the more she realises she is supposed to be here, wherever here may be.

It’s then that she notices the knife in Villanelle’s hand.

“I have been practicing,” Villanelle says, eyes sparkling, “look.”

And then she twirls the knife expertly around her fingers.

“Hey!” Eve grins. “You did it!”

“I did. Thank you for teaching me.” 

Villanelle continues to twirl the knife in her hand from her reclined position on her side. The hand that has been resting on the luxurious looking throw lifts and beckons Eve towards the bed.

“And now,” Villanelle says softly, the glimmer in her eye changing to something else, “I will teach  _ you _ something.”

_ Oh _ ? Eve thinks. She steps closer until her knees touch the mattress, then stops.

“What are you going to teach me?”

But Villanelle says nothing, just nods her head at the edge of the bed, so Eve sits.

“Come here.” Villanelle says, hushed, patting the throw, so Eve turns and lies down on her side too, mirroring the blonde, their heads at the wrong end of the bed. The sun’s rays bask them at this angle, and Villanelle’s hair and eyes shine.

“I am going to teach you now, okay?”

“Okay.” Eve says, still not understanding but trusting Villanelle fully.

And then Villanelle leans forward, and kisses her.

It tastes like light. The soft press of lips is warm, and the hand that reaches to cup her cheek is safe and gentle.

Eve kisses back.

And then Eve wakes up.

She’s still feeling it; how she felt when dream-Villanelle kissed her. It’s a tingling in her lips and lower, much lower, waking her up faster than anything else could. She’s warm and pliant and soft beneath the sheets of the annex bed and, when she stretches, the expensive cotton brushes against her nipples in just the right way.

Relaxed and happy, Eve lets her hand travel down beneath the sheets.

The leftover buzz of arousal is still there, and it heightens as Eve trails her fingers across her chest and stomach. She takes a moment to trace the line of her underwear, back and forth, before sliding down over the material to where she’s already warm from the dream.

She pictures Villanelle.

Obviously.

Her touch is immediately electric over the underwear, and she gasps quietly. She drags her fingertip gently until her breathing picks up, until she feels herself getting wet, and as she goes to dip her fingers below the fabric, her phone buzzes.

She huffs as she contemplates whether or not to check it, and it buzzes again. With an eye roll, she uses her free hand to grab it from the side table.

_ Villanelle: Are you awake? _

_ Villanelle: I’m going to get up and make breakfast, do you want some? _

Realising she could have some fun here, Eve smirks.

Eve: Sure, I’m just in the middle of something. Will be up in a bit.

She waits for the reply, knowing it will come.

_ Villanelle: What are you doing down there? _

Eve: Just something.

_ Villanelle: But what is it? _

And here is her moment.

Eve: You’re not the only one who gets to tease.

_ Villanelle: What? _

Eve laughs at Villanelle’s reply, and continues to stroke herself, starting to circle now over the fabric, pressing a little harder. She’s wet, damp through the material, and texting Villanelle is making her even hotter. Her phone buzzes again just as her eyes slip shut.

_ Villanelle: Wait _

Eve gasps as she presses two fingers down hard.

_ Villanelle: Are you touching yourself Eve? _

She drags her hand back up, damp fingertips reaching her nipple underneath her tank top, and she pinches it. She throws her head back, hair ruffling against the pillows before righting herself and replying.

Eve: Wouldn’t you like to know.

_ Villanelle: Yes that’s why I’m asking!!! _

Eve chuckles, voice breathy, as she pinches her nipple again, harder this time, imagining it’s Villanelle’s fingers, and then her lips, and then her teeth-

_ Villanelle: Eve _

Eve’s hand travels back down fast as she imagines Villanelle’s voice saying her name, low and raspy and demanding, and this time her fingers go below the cotton of her underwear straight to heat and wetness and  _ oh- _

Her back arches, and her concentration is spotty now, her core demanding attention, her clit throbbing  _ touch me touch me touch me  _ in time with her rapid heartbeat.

Eve: I’ll see you in a bit x

Her fingers skim over her clit and she gasps again before moaning, luxuriating in the coolness of the sheets as she stokes the fire between her legs.

Her phone buzzes, and she can’t help herself but check.

She’s glad she did.

It’s three words, but the picture that comes with them…

_ Villanelle: See you soon x _

It’s Villanelle in a white t-shirt, lying back on dark grey sheets, hair in loose, sleep-mussed waves around her shoulders. Her mouth is visible, with perfect white teeth biting down into a plump bottom lip, and just  _ that _ is enough to get Eve’s heart racing faster, but the visibly hard nipples straining through the t-shirt and the arm so obviously reaching down, hand out of shot, has Eve’s back arching all over again.

Her eyes shut tight and she drops the phone, mind full of Villanelle, sleepy and sexy and so, so  _ effortlessly  _ hot that it’s all Eve needs to start touching herself properly, fast paced and firm. She pictures her lips closing around the nipples through that thin white t-shirt, pictures herself pushing fingers down below Villanelle’s sheets to feel the other woman, pictures herself doing things she never thought she’d do and Villanelle is coming and Eve is coming and-

Eve’s back arches and she gasps for breath, shaking as she rides out her orgasm. She’s bathed in light as she comes down, having forgotten to close her blinds the night before, and she spares a moment to think about if someone can see her, before realising she really doesn’t care right now. 

After a few minutes of lying there, luxuriating in the post-orgasm bliss against soft sheets, Eve gets up and showers. She feels a weird mix of excited and awkward at the prospect of now facing Villanelle, both knowing full well what the other has just done without saying it out loud. 

Part of her hopes Villanelle will just… jump her. The second she walks through the door. 

Part of her. 

Okay most of her. 

But she knows she won’t because Villanelle is a professional, a hard working and confident professional who commands people with a single look, all sleek and fancy in her suits and-

Eve turns the shower to run a little colder. She’ll never make it to the office otherwise.

——

Villanelle had already started on breakfast by the time Eve made it up to the house, bacon sizzling in a pan as the blonde prodded it, dressed in yet another expensive looking robe. 

Villanelle threw her a wink but said nothing, so Eve sat at her usual spot at the kitchen island and watched as she cooked for them. Soon, they were eating bacon sandwiches and drinking coffee, chatting about this and that and when they’d watch the last Twilight film.

_ “May 17th.” _

_ “What? Villanelle that was last week.” _

_ “Yes, I mean May 17th next year.” _

_ “You are awful.” _

She isn’t awful, of course, she’s damn near perfect, but Eve isn’t going to say something that intense before they’ve even… before. 

They didn’t once mention what happened only half an hour previous. 

Eve is fine with that. 

It is better this way. More… charged. 

But they’d spoken for too long and Eve had realised with a jolt that she was late. 

“I’m sorry,” Eve calls again as she dashes to the door, “I’ll do the dishes next time, I swear.”

She drags her yellow coat on and yanks open the door. 

“Fuck!”

There’s a man on the doorstep, blinking owlishly with his fist raised as if to knock, unintentionally scaring the shit out of Eve. 

“Oh my god,” she recovers quickly, clutching her chest, “I’m so sorry, you scared me.” 

“No problem,” the man laughs, “are you Ms Astankova?”

Eve looks the young man up and down, at his smart suit and his full looking leather satchel. 

“No, I’m not, she’s uh, I’ll just- Villanelle!”

“Hm?” Villanelle’s voice calls from somewhere in the house. 

“Someone’s here to see you! I’ve gotta go!” She looks back at the man. “I’m going to be so late for work, I have to- bye.”

And then she squeezes past him, taking the steps down to the road two at a time. 

——

Eve’s phone rings as she finishes off some research on her laptop, and she frowns in confusion when she sees the number of Villanelle’s office on the screen. She’d only just seen her that morning. 

Eve has been floating along in a little cloud of joy since then, which is very unlike her. Even Carolyn asked if she was alright, surprised as she was by Eve’s chirpy demeanor. 

It would be sad, the fact she hasn’t seemed outwardly happy in years, but she’s too busy being happy for that. 

But now her phone is ringing, and for some reason Eve feels nervous. Villanelle hadn’t mentioned them needing to go over anything, so why would they be calling?

“Hello, Eve Polastri speaking.” 

“Hi Eve, it’s Hugo.”

“Hey,” Eve answers, tapping her fingers against her desk, “is… everything alright?”

“Yes, I’m doing wonderfully, thank you for asking.”

“Not what I was asking but okay, that’s nice.”

The man scoffs on the other end of the line and Eve manages to crack a smile. 

“I’m calling to ask if you can make it into the office this week, preferably tomorrow if possible.”

“What’s going on?” Eve asks.

“It’s- hey, stop-”

There’s a scuffle and Eve has to move her phone away from her ear as the sounds of scratching and grunting come loudly through the speaker. 

“Eve, it’s me. Hugo, stop- I am your boss, stop it!”

She immediately holds the phone close again.

“What is  _ happening _ Villanelle?”

“Well I wanted to talk to you, but Hugo wouldn’t give me the phone so I had to take it from him, and now he’s trying to kick me off- Hugo I paid for this desk, I can sit on it if I want! Stop-”

“Oh, my god.” Eve says loudly, ducking her head a little as she draws eyes in the office towards her, “Villanelle, just tell me what’s happening. Is something up? Why do I need to come in tomorrow?”

There’s another scuffle sound and then a high pitched yelp that can only be Hugo, and then there’s calm.

“Sorry. Yes, we need you to come in if you can, the sooner the better.”

“Um… yeah I can.” Eve says. “I can work from home.”

“Good, what time can you make it in? Half one would be preferable.”

“Then half one it is.” Eve agrees, wedging her phone between her cheek and shoulder as she grabs her diary from her desk. She quickly scribbles the meeting in Friday’s slot. “Should I be worried?”

“No, of course not, you have me as a lawyer.”

Eve laughs fondly. 

“What is it about?”

There’s a pause before Villanelle speaks again, voice notably irritated. 

“Raymond wants to meet with us. With Niko too, of course.”

That makes Eve sit up properly, shoulders tense. 

“Oh?”

“Mm,” Villanelle hums, “He called and said he wants to convene to discuss a settlement offer they wish to propose.”

“Really?” Eve perks up. “They changed their mind?”

“Maybe,” Villanelle says, “but I do not think that will happen. It is incredibly unlike Raymond to give in like that. I imagine he wants to make a smaller offer instead.”

“Well… that’s good, right? I guess could settle for less.” Eve asks, biting the skin of her thumb nervously. 

“No,” Villanelle says firmly, “you are not settling, we have a solid case and you will get all of that money. You deserve it. We will meet them and see what they have to say, and then we will tell them to leave.”

Eve hums and runs her hand through her hair, tugging anxiously. 

“Are you sure?” Eve says. “I don’t mind getting less.”

“Of course I am sure, Eve we are getting you the entire £250,000. It is what you are entitled to, we will not settle for less. Trust me.”

Eve takes a breath. 

“I trust you.”

“Okay,” Villanelle says, and Eve can hear the smile in her voice, “then I will see you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow.” Eve smiles back.

Her smile doesn’t last long after hanging up. 

Eve tries not to be nervous, she really tries, but even after meeting Raymond just the once, she agrees with Villanelle; he isn’t the type to just roll over.

——

This fucking elevator. 

Eve holds her breath as it climbs. Maybe holding her breath will lessen the feeling of her stomach plummeting. 

It does not. 

By the time she reaches the right floor she’s probably red in the face, trying to hide the gasping breaths she’s taking by sticking her head into her bag under the guise of searching for something. 

“You’d be better off with a paper bag if you’re hyperventilating.”

Hugo’s drawling tones reach her and she quickly pulls her head out of the bag. 

“I’m not hyperventilating.”

“Then why are you all pink?”

“Because some jackass thought it would be fun to make buildings more than 30 feet tall.”

Hugo smothers his laugh in his coffee cup as Eve gets her breathing under control, glaring at Hugo before glaring at the floor until her heart isn’t clenching so tightly. 

“Eve!”

Her heart clenches right back up again, but for different reasons. 

Villanelle is walking towards her from her open office door, smiling brightly and wearing yet another suit Eve hasn’t seen before. 

But this time…

“Oh my god you look like a sexy cowboy.”

“What?”

“ _ What? _ ”

Hugo’s reaction is a little more shocked than Villanelle’s. Eve glances at him and finds his eyes wide and his mouth stretched into a disbelieving grin, and fuck, Eve had momentarily forgotten that he was even  _ here _ . 

“I mean-” she starts, but Villanelle smiles and cuts her off confidentially. 

“Why thank you, Eve.” She says flirtatiously. “Hugo, why don’t you ever tell me I look like a sexy cowboy?”

The man recoils. 

“Why on earth would I do that?”

“To be supportive.” She says like it’s obvious. “Why don’t you support me?”

“I’m your assistant, I quite literally support you.”

Villanelle scoffs and flaps a hand at him, turning back to Eve. 

“Ready to turn down some men?”

Eve knows what Villanelle is doing; she’s diluting Eve’s comment with humour and a casual tone, making it seem normal and fun and not quite so blatant that Eve was checking her out. 

But… the blonde is wearing a metallic silver shirt, for Christ’s sake! With a large black blazer and shiny black trousers that end just over a pair of heeled black leather boots. Her hair is twisted up into a bun, and the look is finished with a chunky gold buckle belt at her hips. 

She looks like a sheriff and Eve wants to commit a crime and be chased by her on a horse. 

Eve blinks at that thought because  _ what the fuck _ , before nodding and forcing a calm smile. 

“Yes, let's do it.”

Villanelle takes a step closer where Hugo won’t overhear them, but keeps enough distance to maintain an air of professionalism. 

Ha. 

“Are you worried?”

Eve swallows. 

“A little.”

“Don’t be nervous,” Villanelle smiles, “you have me.”

The elevator dings behind them. 

When the doors slide open, out steps Niko and Raymond. Eve realises with a wave of anger that Niko is wearing his fancy suit, the same suit he wore to take Gemma out. She breathes in deeply. 

“Good afternoon ladies.” Raymond says lazily, slowly. “How are we?”

Neither answer.

“Villanelle, you look…” Raymond looks her up and down with slightly raised eyebrows. “Well, ridiculous, quite frankly.”

“If not dressing up in a carpet suit like yourself means I look ridiculous, then I’ll gladly be ridiculous.” Villanelle replies coolly. 

The air is thick with tension and it curls uncomfortably around them. Eve can almost feel it, can almost sense it against her prickling skin. Niko is staring at her. She fights the urge to look away. 

“The law is no place for fashion,” Raymond continues with his menacing smile, “this isn’t a show.”

“Oh,” Villanelle replies smoothly, “but don’t you remember? A certain someone used to  _ love _ this show.” 

It’s a strangely specific comment and Eve looks away from Niko to Raymond just in time to see the smile slide from his face. He visibly bristles but as he opens his mouth, Hugo clears his throat from behind the group. 

“We’re ready.” Hugo tells them. Eve looks over her shoulder to the young man, who looks different, his features sort of… fixed. Set. “Come on through.”

——

They’re in the same meeting room as before, with the same setup as before: Hugo sat behind the men with his laptop, the camera sat behind Eve and Villanelle, filming the men. 

“Okay,” Villanelle starts, “this meeting is being recorded, you may also record if you wish.”

Eve isn’t sure why she’s telling the room this, considering Raymond has already set his dictaphone on the table and pressed record, but she figures maybe it’s procedure. Raymond nods, looking somewhat less smug than he had outside. 

“So, Mr Smith,” Villanelle says calmly, “you have asked us to convene to discuss a settlement proposal.” She gestured with a hand, giving the room to him. 

Raymond looks like he’s holding back a sigh. 

“Yes,” Raymond starts, “my client and I have looked over the evidence you have brought forward, and have come to the conclusion that a settlement offer may in fact be the best course of action.”

Eve chances a glance at Villanelle and sees a stony expression on her delicate features, but underneath, underneath there’s that confident, smug look that Eve has grown to search for. 

She flushes warm, and looks away quickly. 

“Alright,” Villanelle nods, “what is your offer?”

“My client would like to make a settlement offer of £200,000.”

“The prenuptial agreement stipulates £250,000.” Villanelle says smoothly. 

“We are aware,” Raymond gives her a deadpan look, “but my client would like to propose £200,000.”

“And my client would like to reject that offer.” Villanelle smiles calmly. “My client will only settle for the £250,000 she is entitled to.”

“My client is being  _ very _ generous with-”

The door swings open, drawing everyone’s attention immediately away from the growing tension. 

“Oh, hell, I am  _ so _ sorry, I didn’t realise…”

A young man stands at the door, looking increasingly alarmed. 

“This is a private meeting.” Raymond says with a frown.

“Sorry, sorry, I just… I have urgent case files for Ms Astankova and I didn’t check- oh, hello.”

Eve feels four pairs of eyes on her, as the young man, a clerk Eve now realises, addresses her. 

She recognises him from somewhere. 

“I hope you made it to work on time.”

_ Shit _ . 

“Um-” Eve starts as she feels Villanelle stiffen beside her. 

“Oh.” Raymond asks, eyebrows furrowed as he looks between the man and Eve. “Do you two know each other?”

“No,” the man says, relaxing as though this conversation has distracted the room and got him off the hook for barging in, “I saw her yesterday morning when I dropped by Ms Astankova’s for signatures. She was rushing. Did you make it on time?”

_ Shit. Shit _ . 

Eve doesn’t say anything.

She feels her body shrinking, and doesn’t need to look up to know that Raymond and Niko’s stares are fixed on her lowered head. 

She’s internally begging for something, anything, to happen, for someone to just fucking  _ say _ something because Eve is pretty sure the silence is going to swallow her whole and spit her back out mangled. 

“This is a private meeting,” Villanelle’s calm and collected voice breaks the silence, and Eve almost sighs in relief, “leave the files on the front desk.”

The clerk must sense the frosty atmosphere, only an idiot wouldn’t, because he says nothing else. The door clicks shut, and the silence engulfs them once more. 

Raymond knows Eve was at Villanelle’s house. At Villanelle’s house before work hours.

She feels sick. 

“Well well well,” Raymond drawls. “What do we have here?”

Villanelle’s voice comes to Eve through the static in her mind. 

_ Don’t be nervous, you have me.  _

Eve has every single reason to be nervous right now. The clerk may well have just fucked this divorce, Jesus, may well have just fucked Villanelle’s  _ career _ , and it's Eve’s fault. 

Her breath starts coming quicker. 

Until fingers touch her thigh softly. 

It’s almost nothing, a barely-there sort of touch, but it  _ is _ there. Villanelle is trying to comfort Eve, to give her some kind of calm, some kind of strength, as best she can. 

So Eve breathes slower, controls the in and out of it, and sits up. 

The fingers disappear after one last soothing stroke. 

Villanelle runs the same fingers over the collar of her metallic shirt. 

“So, as we were saying-”

“Oh, no no no,” Raymond chuckles darkly, “Ms Astankova, I think there’s something else we need to discuss.”

“Is there?” Villanelle asks, confident and sharp. Raymond nods happily. 

“Yes.” he says with an uneasy grin. “So, your client was at your house.”

“That is not a crime.” Villanelle says calmly. “You know friendships are not illegal in our line of work.”

“Illegal? No. Unethical? Yes.” Raymond keeps grinning. “But knowing you and your past, this won’t be just a friendship.”

Eve turns and looks at Villanelle’s profile, watches it harden even further, barely perceptible. 

“What exactly are you implying, Mr Smith?”

Raymond chuckles again. 

“I’m implying, Ms Astankova, that you and your client are involved in a sexual relationship.”

Eve mouth drops open. 

“How  _ dare _ you!” Villanelle snaps. “That is a completely uncalled for accusation based purely on conjecture. I would never risk my own career and the case of a client like that.”

Raymond simply shrugs, unaffected by the ice in Villanelle’s tone. 

“Alright.” He says casually. “If you say so. Anyway, my client withdraws his settlement offer.”

“What?”

Eve and Niko both speak at the same time, both staring at Raymond, who just shrugs again. 

“I think we’re done here.” He smiles. “Short and sweet. It’s been lovely seeing you both again.”

Raymond stands up and switches off his dictaphone, chuckling the entire time. 

“You just can’t help yourself, can you Villanelle.” He says, still smiling that unsettling grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. Villanelle stands and steps close to him, and Eve sees Hugo hurriedly walk around the table and switch off the camera. 

“Nothing is going on between Eve and myself.” She says lowly. “Good luck trying to use it in court.”

“Thank you.” Raymond says at normal volume, eyes widening. “But I won’t need luck. Not anymore.” His eyebrows lift once, a twitch of arrogance. “Mr Polastri, shall we?”

Niko gets up and follows him, and just as they reach the door, he turns his head to look at Eve. 

He doesn’t say anything. 

He just smirks. 

And then they’re gone. 

Hugo leaves quickly after them, flashing a concerned look at the women with the camera and his laptop under his arms as he goes, and then it’s just the two of them. 

“Fuck.” Eve mumbles, dropping her face into her hands. “What do we do?”

“Nothing, Eve.” Villanelle says calmly. “We have not done anything wrong.”

“Sure seems like it.” Eve’s voice is muffled against her palms. “I’m… this is my fault. I’m so sorry, V, I’m so-”

“Hey, no, stop it.” Villanelle lowers herself into the chair next to Eve and leans close. “This is not your fault, this is no one's fault. We didn’t mean for there to be…”

“What?” Eve asks, turning her head and looking up at Villanelle. “For there to be what?”

“Something between us.” Villanelle says softly, eyebrows knitting together, looking almost confused by her own statement. “A connection.”

But the words soothe Eve. They’re water on flames, though they should be gasoline considering the circumstances. Eve sighs. 

“I probably shouldn’t stay at yours anymore.”

“It would be for the best.” Villanelle agrees regretfully, reaching a hand out to delicately brush a few dark curls away from Eve’s face. “Just in case.”

“Will they follow me?”

“No,” Villanelle smiles a little, “Raymond is an idiot but he is not stupid. That would be verging on stalking, if either of them followed you, in an attempt to prove something. But… he is cunning. I cannot rule out that he won’t think of something else.”

“I don’t want to stay somewhere else.” Eve says honestly, just above a whisper, “I want to stay with you.”

“I want that too.” Villanelle murmurs. 

She pushes more curls away, the same ones as before that have fallen back across Eve’s face in their natural unruly way, and Eve wants Villanelle to kiss her,  _ needs _ her to in this moment, to  _ ground _ her amidst this panic. 

Villanelle pulls away. 

“Come on.” The blonde says solemnly. “I am done for the day. I will drive you to mine to collect your things, then I will drop you… at Bill’s? At a hotel?”

“Bill’s is fine, I’ll call him on the way.”

Villanelle nods and leads them out of the room. Hugo is at his desk, sliding the memory card out of the camera and into a small box wired to his laptop. He looks up at them and grimaces. 

“Are you guys… okay?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t we be?” Villanelle asks in a casual tone, but the strain is there. 

“Villanelle, you can’t let him get to you. Especially not about what happened back-”

“Please cancel my three o’clock with Jennifer Woods,” Villanelle interrupts him, her voice strict, “and rearrange it to happen either over the phone this evening at six or tomorrow in the office at four. Okay?”

Hugo sighs, and nods.

“Yes, Ms Astankova.”

“And if you wouldn’t mind putting those casefiles in my desk now, please, that would be very helpful.”

Hugo nods again and stands, carrying the files out of the lobby and into the office, closing the door behind him. 

“Eve,” Villanelle says, her voice soft once more, “it will be okay. This does not change anything. I still feel what I feel.”

Eve swallows.

“Me too.” 

Villanelle smiles, a small but genuine one, and touches Eve’s arm once. 

“Okay.”

But when they leave the meeting room, when they stand side by side in the elevator, when they walk out of the tall glass building, Eve can’t help but feel as though things have already changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ??? I don’t know 
> 
> Hey the first episode was wicked huh! I bloody loved it! Except for the last bit. Wah.
> 
> Btw I’m sorry if this chapter isn’t great, I’m so tired and struggled with it.


	20. Unstuck

Eve is quiet on the drive back to Villanelle’s house. 

She had called Bill as soon as they left the building, but Eve had discovered he and his wife were having a dinner party that night. Villanelle had heard his muffled insistence that Eve stay anyway, but the woman had said no, that she would stay in a hotel. She’d said goodbye and hung up before he had the chance to further argue.

She has not said a word since.

The radio plays softly and Villanelle drums her fingers in time to the beat against the steering wheel, trying to work out whether or not she should say something. It is not awkward, not at all, but Eve’s silence is worrying her. 

“Eve?”

The woman hums in response, not looking away from the passenger side window. 

“Are you okay?”

Eve simply hums again. 

Villanelle fidgets. 

“Did I do something wrong?”

Eve does turn at that. 

“No,” she says firmly, “no Villanelle, you did nothing wrong.”

“Are you sure?” Villanelle asks. “You are very quiet. Did I not say the right thing?”

“It’s… it’s not that.” Eve sighs. “It’s just, scary? I guess that’s the word for it. This whole thing.”

Villanelle flicks on the indicator. 

“Our thing?”

“No.” Eve says quickly, before her shoulders drop a little. “Yes. But not just us. All of it is scary. The divorce and the court case and… it’s all very… I don’t know.”

Villanelle nods. 

“I think I get it, it is all very new and different. It is all… up in the air, as they say here.”

“Yes,” Eve says enthusiastically, “exactly. I feel like I can’t get a good enough grip on anything, and as soon as I do, it slips.”

“I understand.” Villanelle says, watching the way the light catches on the late May rain falling in sheets. 

“I’m just… getting a little tired of feeling unsteady.”

“Like you are on a boat at sea.”

“Yeah,” Eve agrees softly, “just like that. I need something solid, just for a bit, at least. I need… land.”

Villanelle doesn’t say anything to that, because she doesn’t need to. She knows how Eve is feeling, because that is how she feels too. 

She has never felt it before. 

Villanelle has never felt the ground shake beneath her as it does now, with nothing to hold onto. It is not entirely unpleasant, but it is different. She is so used to having what she wants, and taking what she doesn’t have. But now she has what she wants, but not in the way she wants, and… it is  _ different _ to how she usually wants. Her brain is still trying to adjust. 

It is different enough that Villanelle is not sure what she is supposed to do. 

But maybe…

“You can hold on to me, Eve.” Villanelle says quietly. “We could find land together.”

She feels dark eyes on her profile. 

“I'm losing track of these metaphors.”

Villanelle laughs abruptly and glances at Eve, finding dark eyes shining back. 

“Something about a boat.”

“Yes,” Eve chuckles, “something about a boat.”

It is quiet again for a few minutes, only the honks of cars and the patter of the early summer rain against the car fighting to be heard. 

“So,” Eve says, and Villanelle can hear the smirk in her voice, “I get to hold onto you, huh?”

Villanelle smirks too. 

“If you are good.” 

And then it is quiet again, but a different sort of quiet. 

It is… thicker. 

Villanelle feels like she could reach out and touch it, wrap her fingers around the tension and drag it back in fistfulls to breathe it in or drink it down or whatever it takes, whatever it takes to have this tension  _ inside _ of her. 

She shivers in her seat, and readjusts her hands on the wheel. 

They’re five minutes from the house. 

Five minutes until Eve can collect her things and get a taxi to her hotel, and then Villanelle can do something about the tension suddenly prickling at her skin. 

An hour, tops. 

She shivers again. 

An hour is a very long time. 

God, the things Villanelle wants to do to Eve-

A horn blares, and Villanelle realises she’s swerved. She is distracted. She is warm and she can’t sit still and she needs to press her legs together because the tension isn’t just in the air now, it is in her throat and between her legs and it is  _ thrumming _ . The suddenness startles her. 

She breathes, long and slow, and if Eve notices anything then she doesn't mention it. Villanelle chances a look at the other woman and sees her fingers flex, over and over, fingertips tapping against her thigh. 

Villanelle wonders if Eve can feel the tension too. 

The thought of them sharing this tension, of them both feeling wound up, tighter and tighter, makes Villanelle almost lightheaded. 

This never happens to her, she never gets like this with people. If she wants them then she has them; there is no chase, no build, it is simply a game of find a woman, seduce the woman, fuck the woman. 

She’s never had the space for feelings before, never felt this… desperation to know someone while wanting them... And she wants. She wants she wants she  _ wants _ . 

Nothing else is said until they reach the house. 

Villanelle heads towards the kitchen with Eve trailing somewhere behind, the blonde kicking off her shoes as she goes. Villanelle looks over her shoulder and sees the other woman still standing near the door, frowning at the ground as she drops her bag before walking through and heading out to the annex.

Villanelle stands at the sink and drinks a glass of water slowly, just for something to do while a quiet takes hold of the kitchen. She’s refilling the glass when Eve reappears, overnight bag probably already packed before she left that morning, or maybe never unpacked in the first place.

Villanelle watches as Eve heads slowly back to the front door. 

Eve speaks first.

“So, I guess this is it.”

Villanelle walks back over, stands a few feet away. 

“I guess so.”

“We… we probably shouldn’t hang out anymore, either, right?”

“Mm, it is maybe too risky right now. But after-”

“After, yeah, after.” 

Villanelle looks down, stares at her feet, looks back up.

“You should delete that photo I sent you.”

“Oh shit, yeah, okay. I’ll...delete all of the messages too?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“So… I’ll see you when I see you? At your office, at some point.”

“Of course, whenever there is something new or I need a signature or… at some point, yes.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Well… bye, Vil.”

“Bye, Eve.”

Eve turns to the door and wraps her fingers around the handle slowly, before turning back to Villanelle. 

“Or you know maybe we could-” 

But Eve doesn’t get to finish, because Villanelle rushes in, crowds her, and kisses her. 

Eve’s moan is heavy with relief and Villanelle echoes it, has no choice but to echo it because finally,  _ finally _ . One of her hands reaches for Eve’s waist instinctively but the other buries itself in dark curls, soft and thick around her fingers as she tilts Eve’s head and captures her bottom lip between her own. 

Hands flit across Villanelle’s body, desperate in their movements and staying nowhere for more than a second. They’re on her arms, her lower back, her hips, her shoulders before they settle on her jaw, one slipping to cup the back of her neck and the other distractedly tracing a thumb along the sharp edge between chin and cheekbone. 

The thud of Eve’s back against the door echoes between Villanelle’s thighs, Eve’s whimper against her lips a vibration in her chest. 

Villanelle wants to consume her, wants to engulf her and be engulfed, wants to lose the seam between their bodies until they are one, joined by skin and sweat and heat. 

Eve tugs at her, the fingers at her nape pulling her deeper into Eve’s mouth, harder against her lips as the other hand slides down, down, tips dragging until a palm settles over Villanelle’s collar bone. 

They have to break away to breath, almost no space between them as they pant, hot and heavy into each other. 

“We are definitely not supposed to be doing this.” Villanelle murmurs against Eve’s lips. 

Eve swallows hard, voice shaking when she speaks. 

“Fuck, you’re right, we should stop-”

Villanelle’s hand grips Eve’s waist tighter.

“No! No, no no, keep going.”

“But- I thought-”

Villanelle’s insistent kiss must be enough of a response for Eve because she stops trying to speak and instead softens further, turns liquid in Villanelle’s arms as the blonde presses her more firmly against the door.

Their lips move, plush and pliant in the give and take of the kiss, and when Eve sighs into it Villanelle can’t help the hitch of breath that catches in her throat. It is a new sound, Eve’s sigh, short and sweet and almost gasping, and Villanelle wants to hear it again and again and again and-

The wet heat of Eve’s tongue touches at her bottom lip, once, quickly, and Villanelle gasps. She meets the touch and now they’re kissing deeper, Eve heavy against the door and Villanelle trying desperately to get closer to her somehow, somehow. 

Villanelle is not in control when she tugs the light grey sweater over Eve’s head, when she lets Eve push the blazer off her shoulders, when she gets both hands into Eve’s curls and pulls. 

Eve’s gasp trails off into a moan and Villanelle pulls away, their lips still touching but able to take a breath. 

“You like hair pulling?”

Eve pulls back enough to catch Villanelle’s eyes, her own deep brown swallowed by black, and she nods, slowly. 

“You like it a little rough, hm?”

Eve’s whimper moves to sit low in Villanelle, whose eyes flutter shut at the feeling. When she opens them, Eve is biting her lip. 

“I think you have a power kink, Eve.” Villanelle murmurs, left hand coming around the touch Eve’s bottom lip with her thumb. “The suits and the confidence really do it for you, huh.”

It’s not a question, but Eve nods anyway, her catch of breath audible. 

Villanelle takes in Eve’s flushed cheeks and darkened eyes, and slips her hand back into her curls.

Eve swallows, blinks, then shakes her a head a little like she is trying to clear it.

“We should stop here.” Eve murmurs.

“Obviously, yes.” Villanelle mumbles because obviously, yes, before she reattaches their lips.

Eve kisses her once, twice, slides her hand slowly downwards from Villanelle’s collarbone.

“Here is where we stop.” She breathes, muffled by Villanelle.

“Okay.”

“We should not go any further.”

“Yes…” Villanelle starts, heart racing as Eve’s hand continues to move. “Eve, you understand that your hand is almost feeling me up as you say all this?”

Eve huffs a little, hot against Villanelle’s mouth.

“Whatever.” She mumbles, and Villanelle smiles, darts her tongue out and drinks in Eve’s sigh.

“I think-” and then Villanelle moans because Eve’s hand has found a new area and it is difficult not to allow herself to press into the pressure, and okay, they’re going there, they’re already there, okay, “I think maybe your hand has a better idea about what we both want to happen next.”

Eve hums and takes a breath, looks down at her own hand gently covering Villanelle’s shirt-clad breast, then back up at Villanelle with a fresh certainty.

“I think we follow the hand’s lead.”

Villanelle exhales.

“I think so too.”

The kiss is different, this time.

There is more to it. More passion, more confidence, more direction.

The kiss is going somewhere, it’s taking them somewhere.

It takes Villanelle’s hand to the collar of Eve’s shirt, a pale blue and white striped cotton thing, soft to the touch and gorgeous on Eve’s olive skin.

“This is so cute.” Villanelle breathes against Eve’s lips.

“Thanks, it was £8 from H&M.”

“Why are you ruining this?”

Eve laughs, then gasps, because Villanelle’s fingers have started on the top buttons, slowly slipping the plastic through their holes to reveal smooth skin over sharp collarbones. Villanelle itches to kiss it.

So she does, because why deny herself?

Eve’s inhale quickly becomes a moan at the press of lips and Villanelle can’t help mirror the sound, Eve’s skin so soft and tasting faintly of-

“You taste like cake.” Villanelle murmurs into her neck, and Eve laughs breathily.

“Coconut and vanilla body butter.” She says around a gasp.

“Hm,” Villanelle hums as she straightens, lips already seeking out Eve’s again, “I wonder what else you taste like.”

Eve moans. 

“Oh god,” she mumbles, “fuck.”

Eve cursing is like hot, sweet molasses in Villanelle’s throat, and she chokes on a moan as she twists her hands in Eve’s shirt, tugging her closer.

“Say that again.”

Eve pauses, then leans back to catch Villanelle’s eye. She smirks, slowly, then brings her lips close to Villanelle’s once more.

“Fuck.” She whispers. 

Villanelle’s breath is shaky as she seals their mouths together again, kissing furiously and swiping with her tongue that Eve opens her mouth for, and it’s hot, it’s hot and heavy and wet and she would give it all up, would give up her job and her house and her car if it meant having this for every second of every day-

Knuckles brush against her neck and Villanelle feels the top button of her metallic shirt pop open, followed by another, and another. Eve keeps going, doesn’t stop to taste skin, until she reaches Villanelle’s waist. 

She feels her shirt hem pulled out from under the waist of her trousers, the expensive material vaguely scratching at her skin with the haste that it’s pulled.

Eve works on the last two buttons and suddenly Villanelle feels the cool air of the apartment hit her overheated chest. It is short lived though, as Eve’s warm hands gently touch her stomach, her ribs, the strip of skin just below her bra, before pushing the shirt open.

The breath that leaves Eve has Villanelle smirking and pushing her chest out. She wants to say something, wants to make a funny quip or comment, but her words die and leave as a breathless whimper when Eve’s hands settle over her breasts.

They stay there, still, cupping gently over the navy lace as Eve appears to try to get her breathing under control. Villanelle is beyond trying, and pushes herself into Eve’s palms.

Eve gasps silently, and squeezes.

“God,” Villanelle mumbles, “harder.”

Fingertips dig into the soft skin of Villanelle’s tits as Eve’s hands squeeze more firmly, the pressure delicious but so far from enough as Villanelle moans. 

Her hands fly to Eve’s shirt and she hurriedly unbuttons it the rest of the way, her eagerness and desperation clearly felt by Eve who grips harder at her chest, whose thumbs start to move, start to brush over the obvious hardened nipples beneath lace, and Villanelle might black out just from having her tits touched over her bra, holy fuck.

Villanelle doesn’t hesitate pushing the shirt from Eve’s shoulders and down her arms before pulling her closer, trapping Eve’s hands between them while her own smooth over Eve’s back, tracing the ridges of her spine until her hands are cupping Eve’s ass and firmly squeezing a whine from her lips.

When she feels a pull at her belt, Villanelle breaks away from the kiss to look down.

Eve has dropped one hand and is tugging slightly at the gold buckle, forehead pressed to Villanelle’s as they pant hotly into the space between them.

Villanelle slides her hands back up, fingers bumping softly over the clasp of Eve’s bra but not staying, moving until they’re back in those luscious curls, buried deep and twisting and tugging until Eve moans and pulls harder at Villanelle’s belt, harder until she hears the latch click and the fancy front swings forward. It will be easier for Eve now, easier for her to undo the leather and unravel it from the loops that hold it in place, and she does, she does start to slide it open and out and Villanelle feels the pressure give as it’s pulled, pulled away.

The thud of the accessory hitting the floor makes Villanelle swallow.

The fingers she feels against her waist make her swallow harder.

The metal clasps of her trousers are slid apart and the button is undone, and Villanelle can do nothing but kiss Eve again as the other woman slides the zip fly down, can do nothing but kiss her and bite down on her lip and pant into Eve’s distracted mouth.

When the silky material of the trousers brush along her thighs as they drop, Villanelle shoves Eve against the door with new vigor. Eve is so forward, so bold with her movements despite never having done this with another woman, and the eager way in which she undresses Villanelle is making the blonde hot, so hot, that it’s all she can do to kiss Eve harder to smother her own breathy moans.

The trousers hit her ankles and she kicks them off haphazardly, desperately, until she’s stood in the hallway of her apartment in nothing but deep blue matching underwear and an open silver shirt.

Eve must realise this too because she pulls her head back and stares, rakes her eyes up and down Villanelle with a hunger that she knows is reflected on her own face.

“Jesus Christ,” Eve half-moans, “you are unreal.”

Usually Villanelle would preen, smug in her looks as a hookup takes her in, but with Eve, with Eve the comment sinks immediately to her cunt, throbbing there and pushing Villanelle to flush red hot as she groans, high and needy. 

Eve eyes her curiously.

“You like that?” She asks quietly. “You like when people say nice things about you?”

“Not people,” Villanelle manages to whisper. “You.”

Eve smiles.

“I’ll remember that.”

As Villanelle lets that promise roll over her, Eve’s eyes drop and linger at her chest. Eve’s fingertips reach up to trace the ample curve of Villanelle’s breasts, bringing goosebumps to the surface. Villanelle shivers beneath the delicate touch.

“I want to go first.”

Villanelle looks at Eve who stares back, eyes dark, confident.

“Are you sure?” Villanelle breathes, and Eve nods.

“I want to go first.” She says again, and who is Villanelle to deny her that? When Eve is looking so eager, so determined, asking for the first go as if sex between two women is about polite turn taking, not skin and heat and more more  _ more- _

“Yes,” Villanelle says, then Eve’s hands are at her hips and her fingers are dipping below the lace there, and Villanelle’s voice turns breathier, thinner, desperate and “yes, yes, yes-” even though all Eve is doing is touching the skin at her hips where faint red lines sit from her underwear.

Eve traces them, the dented pathways, traces them back and then follows them forwards, and Villanelle’s stomach jolts pleasantly as those fingertips dance across her hip bones and the soft skin beneath them. 

Her hips buck forwards, ignoring the messages from her brain telling them to slow, slow down a bit, go easy go gently go slow, but Eve grunts at the movement so Villanelle does it again and again, and their mouths are open and unfocused and Villanelle has never felt this wound up so soon, and-

“ _ Oh _ .”

Villanelle feels the touch as Eve’s mouth parts into a perfect sigh, the touch below the lace, the touch moving until, until there, there-

“Fuck,” Eve rasps, “you feel- that’s-”

Villanelle keens and nods, eyes shutting tightly as Eve’s fingertips explore wet folds, tentative and gentle as Villanelle tries to catch her breath.

“You’re so wet.” Even mumbles. “Is that… is it because of me?”

Villanelle manages a huff of laughter.

“Are you kidding? Yes, it is because of you. You do this to me, Eve, whenever I think about you like this, I-”

“You think about me?”

Fingers begin to move more firmly, they drag up and down, pressing as they go, and Villanelle moans.

“Yes,” she answers with a heavy exhale, eyes fluttering open then closing again, “I think about us. I think about us in bed, on the couch, in the shower, on the counter-”

“Fuck,” Eve moans softly, “the counter?”

“Move your fingers up a little,” Villanelle murmurs, then gasps as fingertips touch at her clit, “fuck, yes, there.”

“Tell me about the counter,” Eve says as she begins to rub softly, “and I’ll keep touching you.”

And she knew that this bold Eve had been hiding, smothered, all along, and seeing it now, feeling it, has Villanelle burning. 

One of her hands hits the wall by Eve’s head as she sags forward, palm flat against the cool plaster as the fingers in her underwear begin to move with purpose, side to side over Villanelle’s clit, slowly picking up speed.

“Okay, okay,” Villanelle breathes, “I think about bending you over it, pressing you into the tile, taking you from behind-”

Eve’s whimper catches in her throat and her fingers rub harder, they find a rhythm, a tempo, and Villanelle leans further against the wall.

“I, I think about laying you across it and eating you out, I-”

“God, yes.” Eve gasps, and now her fingertips swirl with perfect direction and Villanelle moans, high and breathless, and opens her eyes.

Eve is looking down at her own hand, watching it work at Villanelle. The concentration on her face is stained with arousal and Villanelle looks and looks, drinks in the site of flushed cheeks and dark eyes and-

She lifts the hand that had been gripping at Eve’s waist and tangles it in dark hair, using the pull to drag plump lips back to her own in a fast, heated kiss.

“I think about you taking me.” She husks. “I think about your fingers on me, like now, working me up until they dip down, I think about them sliding into me and you not being gentle, or soft, and you keep going until I-”

Villanelle cuts herself off with a heavy moan as two fingers press inside of her. They’re strong and quick, and Villanelle watches as Eve looks up at her slowly, a quiet disbelief in her eyes, maybe at what she’s just done or maybe the feel or maybe just because they are here, doing this, after everything.

“Jesus.” Eve murmurs, fingers still as they’re clutched by Villanelle’s walls. “You have no idea what hearing you talk like that does to me.”

They stare, their eyes locked, their soft panting breaths the only sounds to accompany them. 

“I think I might.” Villanelle murmurs, and she smirks, once, the quirk of her lips making Eve’s eyes flash with something deep and dirty.

The fingers move.

They pull out slowly, curved, dragging, and Villanelle drops her forehead to Eve’s. Their skin sticks, overheated from the frenzy of their movements but Villanelle doesn’t care, doesn’t want to move back, doesn’t want to unstick from Eve. She wants to stay stuck for as long as she can, for as long as Eve lets her, for-

There’s no more talking when Eve’s fingers slam back inside of her.

There’s a grunt, a moan, a thin exhale.

And then they’re moving. Eve and Villanelle are moving, moving together, Villanelle’s hips bucking forwards to meet Eve’s fingers push for push, Eve’s hand clutching at Villanelle’s jaw as she angles her lips back to her own.

They kiss, open and unfocused as Eve’s fingers pound into her again and again, her palm hitting against Villanelle’s clit so perfectly, so perfectly, that-

“Don’t stop, don’t stop.” Villanelle pants. She nips Eve’s lip, maybe harder than intended, but Eve’s whimper sounds grateful so she does it again and pulls at thick curls, and when Eve’s own hips jolt forward they knock her hand harder against Villanelle who can only cry out at the feeling because she’s almost there, she’s almost there.

“Other hand,” she moans quickly against Eve, “use- fuck, use your-”

Eve gets it, of course she gets it, she is so wonderful and smart and instantly good at this, and the hand pressing soft pink marks into Villanelle’s jaw leaves, drops, dips beneath wet lace in only seconds and then there, the pressure is there.

“God, fuck-”

Villanelle moans, can’t stop moaning, and Eve is rubbing her fingers fast across her clit while pushing into her hard and fast and it is too much but it is enough,  _ god _ is it enough, it’s… it’s...

“I- _ Eve- _ ”

It starts like it always does, that heavy pressure spreading upwards, outwards, sparks in her fingertips, a dizzying force. But then, then it’s  _ more _ . 

There is something poetic in the way Villanelle feels. It is different with Eve, which is surprising and shocking all at once; excitement drags fear in its wake, because now that she has this, has Eve, Villanelle is sure that no one else will do. She is standing on the edge, knowing that if she falls there will no climbing back up. 

If she falls. Ha. 

_ When _ . 

The orgasm ripples, rearranges the fragments of her being before piecing them back, a pebble thrown hard onto the glass surface of a lake and waiting for the water to calm, for the smooth surface to reappear, identical to the previous but made up entirely different. 

God, it is so lyrical Villanelle almost has the sense to chastise herself, because really? Lake metaphors creeping in around the edges of an orgasm? What has Eve done to her. 

It leaves her in shivering waves as she pants, forehead still pressed to Eve’s. She is mildly aware of lips kissing the corner of her mouth as she gasps, the fingers between her legs slowing their strokes. 

Her breathing settles eventually, and Villanelle opens her eyes. 

Eve is looking at her, gaze dark in the minimal distance between their faces, a recognisable hunger in her stare paired with an awe that is foreign to Villanelle. Adored as she may be by the women she brings home, none have ever looked at her like Eve looks at her. 

“Wow.” Villanelle utters, huffing a laugh. “Wow.”

“I’ll get even better with practice.” Eve whispers, and it is clear that while Villanelle is coming down, Eve is very much still up. Villanelle smirks. 

“Come on,” she murmurs before kissing Eve once, “my sheets were very expensive, seems a waste not to use them.”

“I don’t know,” Eve smiles cheekily as Villanelle pulls away, “this wall is pretty comfortable.” She taps it once with her knuckles gently, smiling at Villanelle with eyes still dark. 

Villanelle quirks one eyebrow. 

“Eve.”

The older woman sighs a little, a soft thing laced with want and an edge of eagerness. 

“Yeah, okay. Bed.”

——

Eve is a vision in blue jeans. 

The bra she’s wearing is black cotton, with triangle cups and a touch of mesh detailing near the straps. It is sexy in its simplicity. It’s perfect. 

Eve stands there, fingers linked delicately with Villanelle’s, not letting go as the blonde sits on the edge of the bed. 

“You are beautiful.” Villanelle murmurs, taking Eve in. “You know that?”

Eve shrugs softly.

“No,” she says, stepping between Villanelle’s legs, “but you might make me believe it.”

“Wow,” Villanelle says on a soft exhale, “that was very cringey.”

Eve laughs. 

“Did you just say cringey?”

“Yes. Cringey.” Villanelle frowns suddenly at the word, the strange angles of it in her mouth, in her accent, “cringey… crin gey… crrringey… cr-”

“Sweetheart,” Eve says, and Villanelle stops. Eve’s free hand comes up to push blonde hair away from Villanelle’s face, fingers weaving through golden strands and tugging gently, deliciously. Villanelle’s eyelids flutter. 

“Take those off,” Villanelle says, just above a whisper, her gaze darting down, once, “and come here.”

Eve obeys. 

She unbuttons her jeans slowly, drags down the zip, and Villanelle follows each movement with a hyper sort of attention. Thumbs hook beneath the waist and the denim is being pushed down olive thighs, revealing simple baby blue bikini briefs that don’t match the bra, but it’s Eve, it’s so Eve, this mismatch of colour and texture without a care. 

When Eve kicks the jeans from her ankles, Villanelle reconnects their fingers, and pulls. 

Eve settles on her lap. 

The feel of her is intimate, a comforting weight and a flaming heat all at once. There’s a dark patch on the cotton between Eve’s legs where they split to straddle her thighs. Villanelle moans. 

“God, Eve, you are so sexy.” Villanelle tells her, palms on the warm skin just above her knees. “You have no idea how hot you make me.”

“Show me.” Eve sighs as the hands travel upwards. “Show me.”

——

To say Eve tastes like forbidden fruit, like an apple plucked from some magical tree, would be too much. There is no space for symbolism between her thighs, not right now. 

Eve tastes like a woman. 

Warm. Musky. A pleasant tang. 

Villanelle drags her tongue through slick folds that radiate heat, her chin and cheeks streaked with Eve. She finishes her stroke at Eve’s clit and flicks once, twice, the guttural moan from above sitting heavy between Villanelle’s own legs. 

Her pointed tongue swirls and crosses, feels for a twitch and focuses on it, presses into it, and Eve is gasping, whimpering, squeezing the sides of her head until Villanelle has to use her hands to hold Eve open just so she can hear those desperate sounds clearly. 

“Oh fuck,” Eve says breathlessly, hips bucking into Villanelle’s mouth, “fuck, Villanelle-”

She hums at her name and knows Eve feels the vibrations because she gets wetter still, the taste of her heavy on Villanelle’s tongue as she dips down to lick at her entrance before heading back up to work on Eve’s clit. 

“More,” Eve gasps, “god, you’re so good at this.”

The words spark fire in Villanelle’s belly and she groans and she moves downwards. Her tongue slides into Eve and curls. 

“Fuck, baby,” Eve moans as her hand tangles in Villanelle’s hair, “so good.”

“Keep talking,” Villanelle pulls away for a second to say, “please.”

Eve grunts, the fingers in Villanelle’s hair tighten their hold. 

“You’re amazing,” Eve manages, “Vil, you’re incredible.”

Fuck, the words are like a sweet poison and they burn. Villanelle moves her tongue faster and let’s go of Eve’s thighs, moving them to rest over her shoulders instead as her hands travel up Eve’s body. Her palms settle over her tits, the bra discarded along with her underwear and Villanelle’s shirt as they’d fallen into bed together, and Eve gasps. 

Palms turn to fingertips as Villanelle rubs and pinches at perfect rosy nipples, Eve’s whines sending bolts of pleasure to Villanelle’s clit. Eve gets impossibly wetter, would be dripping onto the sheets below if not for Villanelle’s desperate mouth. She pulls out, moves up, wraps her lips around Eve’s clit and sucks lightly, groaning as Eve’s hips lift from the bed.

“God, baby, you’re so good, keep going, keep going.”

Villanelle brings one hand back down and immediately has her thumb on Eve’s clit as her tongue enters her again and again, curving and licking, stroking along Eve’s walls and whimpering at the perfect sting as her hair is pulled tight.

“Fuck, I’m- I’m-”

Villanelle’s own hips rub fruitlessly against the sheets below her as her thumb circles Eve’s nerve endings, as her tongue coaxes shudder after shudder, as Eve’s mouth opens in a moan that starts off silent but thickens with a swell of sound that has Villanelle looking up.

Eve is wild, propped up on her elbows and eyes clenched tightly shut as she moans through her orgasm, coming against Villanelle’s mouth, wet and hot and heavy on Villanelle’s tongue, her lips, her chin. It’s dirty, it’s primal and animalistic and Villanelle’s can’t look away, can’t stop tasting Eve and pushing her for every last drop-

“Stop,” Eve sighs, voice a raspy shade of what it once was, “fuck, oh my god.”

Villanelle smiles against her then lifts herself up, licking her lips glossed with Eve. The woman stares at her, gaze burning, before dropping her head back and laughing.

“Holy shit, that was… I don’t even…” Eve looks at her again, shakes her head in some kind of surprise or adoration or- “you are unbelievable.”

It pulls a sigh from Villanelle, high and breathless, and she squeezes her thighs together.

“Are you…?” Eve trails off but her eyes sparkle as the flick down to Villanelle’s closed legs. “Wow, you really like compliments, huh.”

Villanelle crawls upwards over Eve’s naked body and nudges her legs apart with a knee before straddling a thigh. Eve gasps as Villanelle’s lace covered centre meets her warm skin, the fabric soaked.

“It is only from you.” Villanelle says, her own voice scratched with arousal. “I have had plenty of women tell me I am amazing-”

“Okay, Romeo.” Eve interrupts, but she snaps her mouth shut at the gentle rock of Villanelle’s hips.

“But none like you. When you say those things…” Villanelle trails off and rocks her hips again. “It is like… someone has set a fire in my gut.”

Eve smirks, her hands settling on Villanelle’s waist, thumbs stroking slowly back and forth.

“Okay,” Eve says, nodding carefully, “okay. So… you have a praise kink.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement filled with mirth. Villanelle frowns playfully.

“I do not have a praise kink.”

“Ah, I think you do.” 

Eve is grinning now, hair a mess of tangles and eyes dark, and Villanelle leans forward until their noses touch, going for smouldering intimidation. Eve just laughs.

“I do not have a praise kink. I have an Eve kink.” Villanelle mumbles into the humid air between them, but Eve simply chuckles again.

“It’s a praise kink, quit denying it. You like being told how hot you are, don’t you, baby?”

Villanelle’s hips roll of their own accord at the words.

“Fine, yes.” Villanelle mumbles, settling into a soft rhythm against Eve’s thigh. “But you have a power kink, so.”

When she sticks her tongue out, Eve giggles, a husky sound that has Villanelle smiling. Eve kisses her lightly, kisses her again, then nudges at Villanelle’s nose with her own.

“You’re still wearing a bra.”

“And underwear.” Villanelle supplies helpfully. Eve scoffs.

“They barely count, they’re soaked through.”

Villanelle takes Eve’s lip gently between her teeth and nips it, once.

“And whose fault is that?”

“Take them off.”

Villanelle pauses.

“I thought I was the bossy one.” She murmurs with a surprised smirk. Eve shrugs one shoulder against the sheets.

“Okay, how’s this: if you take off the panties, you can show me how pretty you are.”

The shiver runs through Villanelle like a lit gunpowder trail.

She lifts her hips and Eve meets her halfway, hands pushing down the lace until Villanelle can kick the garment off. She settles back against Eve’s thigh and grinds against it, the skin on skin contact sending her eyes rolling and her back arching.

Villanelle takes off her own bra and Eve’s hands are immediately on her breasts, cupping their full shape and causing Villanelle’s breathing to stutter. Her hips buck and she slides against Eve, the muscle hard beneath her as Eve tenses.

“You look so good.”

Eve knows exactly what she is saying. Villanelle grunts and drops forward again, hands flat on the mattress either side of Eve’s head. The fingers at her tits run over her nipples maddeningly. 

“You riding me like this is so hot, so hot baby.”

Her breath leaves in her a gasping moan and she nods eagerly, rubbing harder, faster.

“God you make me wet, Vil, I like you so much.”

It’s enough for Villanelle’s arms to give, for the two of them to be pressed chest to chest, those words falling from Eve’s lips like honey onto Villanelle’s skin.

“You like me?” She manages to gasp around panting breaths, a hand burying itself in Eve’s hair because it’s been too long since she’s touched it, too long.

“Of course I like you.” Eve murmurs. Her hands pull free from where they’d been pressed between them and one slides down to Villanelle’s ass, the other digging blunt nails into her hip. Villanelle moans at the pressure there, at the sharp bite.

“I like you too,” Villanelle whimpers, pressing her forehead to Eve’s collarbone, their skin sticking once more, all over stuck, no desire to be unstuck, “God-”

She ruts harder, fast and frantic now, Eve’s thigh slippery with Villanelle and there’s no friction, none at all but Villanelle doesn’t care, it’s the closeness that is killing her, the closeness and the bump of her clit and Eve’s nails carving half moons into her and-

“Eve, Eve, I’m coming, fuck-”

Her jaw is gripped then tilted upwards and Eve’s lips are on hers, swallowing her moans and sharing the air as Villanelle sighs out Eve’s name.

“Eve…” 

Villanelle presses it like ink onto the weave of Eve’s skin. 

“Eve.”

——

They lay in blankets, cocooned from the world.

Eve’s fingers are tangled with her own in a knot between them on the sheets. Their legs touch at the knees and ankles. Their foreheads kiss.

It is too warm.

Neither cares.

“I don’t want to go to a hotel.”

Eve’s murmured words disarrange the silence.

Villanelle exhales softly.

“I don’t want you to either.”

“Should I stay?”

Villanelle brings her head back a little, enough to look at Eve.

“You shouldn’t.” She says honestly.

Eve nods and purses her lips.

“But should I?”

Fingers grip tighter.

“Yes. Just tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Forever.”

Eve blows out a breath slowly, her cheeks puffed and eyes wide. 

“That’s intense.”

Villanelle doesn’t care.

“You bring it out in me.”

Eve hums, then smiles, then kisses her.

“I’m thirsty.” 

“Go get a drink then.” Villanelle says against her lips.

“Why don’t you go get us a drink? It’s your house.”

Villanelle shrugs against pale pink sheets. 

“Because I am not thirsty.” 

“How are you not thirsty? You came more than I did.”

The scoff that leaves her is not dignified, and Eve grins.

“We are not tallying points, we have not finished yet. This is just a break.”

“Yeah, a water break.” Eve chuckles before kissing Villanelle again. “So go get us some water.”

“I told you, I’m not thirsty.” Villanelle says with a smirk. “I drank water while you were getting your things.”

“Well then you’re just a terrible host aren’t you.” Eve huffs, and then she tries to roll onto her back away from Villanelle who moans pitifully and reaches for her.

“No, no don’t go.” Villanelle whines playfully. “I will get you water, just stay here with me for a little bit.”

Eve relents easily and turns back to face Villanelle, who kisses her quickly as if scared she’ll lose the chance to again.

“God you’re a sap.” Eve murmurs, and Villanelle gasps dramatically.

“How dare you,” she says, rolling over suddenly and pinning Eve below her, “I am a very important and scary lawyer, I have made rich men penniless, I have made CEOs beg, I have-”

“You almost cried when I ate you out.”

Villanelle narrows her eyes.

“It is an emotional experience, feeling a woman try pussy for the first time. You don’t understand.”

When Eve bursts out laughing Villanelle can’t help but grin, caught in the surprised delight shining from Eve’s eyes.

“Okay,” Eve says with a content sigh, “let’s get up. I will make us water and you can make us dinner.”

Eve climbs out of bed and heads into Villanelle’s walk-in closet.

“Make us water?” Villanelle grumbles as she stretches in the rapidly cooling sheets. “What, you are going to find a spring?”

Eve chuckles as she walks out in a t-shirt and running shorts, hand running through her halo of tangles in what Villanelle can see is a pointless effort in taming them.

She glows.

“C’mon, I’m hungry.” Eve tells her, quickly checking herself in the mirror near the door.

“But-”

“Get up, Villanelle.” Eve calls as she walks out of the bedroom.

Villanelle stares at the ceiling. 

There is a woman in her home, a woman she has just had amazing sex with, who she likes, likes a lot. There is a woman in her home who wants Villanelle to make dinner, a woman who she wants to watch a movie with, who she wants to sit close to on the sofa, who she wants to talk to and listen to and joke with.

There is a woman in her home who she wants to see in her home every day. She wants to wake up with her, eat with her, dance with her, fall asleep with her. 

There is a woman in her home who should scare Villanelle. 

She  _ is _ scared. 

But, she is happy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sponsored by steel bullet nipples, those whales with gaping mouths, and ‘things can run down chins’
> 
> Thank you Cat, my metal boobie (singular) 
> 
> Anyway you ever get too descriptive about an orgasm and so have the character tell herself off in a way that is really just you telling yourself off because seriously??????? It’s an orgasm Lauren stop messing around.


	21. What if?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoooo you’re a bunch of horn dogs aren’t ya <3 well GET READY FOR not that

“Bill! Over here.”

His familiar smile through the busy crowd has a calming effect on Eve. The pub is heaving, as expected of a Friday evening, but she’s managed to bag them a standing table around one of the thick wooden pillars in the old, low ceilinged space. 

“Hello darling,” he says over the noise as he reaches her, “couldn’t have got a table with chairs? I’m an old man, I need a seat.”

“You’re not old.” Eve scoffs, sliding a pint of ale towards him which he takes with a nod. “You’re lucky we even have a table.”

He takes a sip of his drink and smacks his lips.

“We really should find somewhere with better mobility options though, I swear the suits in here get younger and younger.”

“That’s not their fault,” Eve says while lifting her own pint, “blame the liquid gold.”

“True, nowhere has the ale selection that this place does.”

They both take a drink. 

“God we’re boring.” Eve says finally, and Bill laughs. 

“We are, Jesus.” He nods. “Let’s talk about something interesting. How’s the divorce?”

Still boring.” 

“No, no,” Bill scolds playfully, “you need to be able to talk about these things. Plus, it isn’t boring, it’s a gateway to freedom, so come on.”

“Ugh, I don’t know.” Eve sighs, turning her pint in circles on its cardboard coaster. “It’s going, I guess? It’s… there’s things, bumps and… stuff.”

Bill frowns in confusion. 

“Bumps and stuff.” He repeats. “Care to elaborate?”

“Not really.” Eve shrugs. 

But she does want to elaborate. 

She really, really does. 

She wants to talk about it, she wants to give Bill every single detail about Raymond’s threat, about how domestic she and Villanelle have become, about the mind blowing sex they’d had the night before, all of it, all of it. 

She keeps her lips shut tight. 

Bill stares at her, that usual twinkle of mirth in his eyes glinting even in the dim pub. He pulls an amused face and takes another swallow of beer. 

“Let’s play a game.”

“Oh Jesus.”

“Let’s play ‘best friend Bill asks leading questions to help Eve get her feelings out’.”

Eve groans. 

“That sounds like a terrible game.”

“Ah, but it’s one we’ve played many times, isn’t it.” Bill chuckles. “It’s the only way to get you to open up properly.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Eve says, downing ale to avoid his stare. 

“Okay. Eve, how are you?”

Eve shrugs casually. 

“Fine.”

“Good. Now, Eve, are you feeling overwhelmed by your attraction to your lawyer and the subsequent consequences that come with that?”

Eve-

Eve starts crying. 

“Bloody hell,” Bill says with concerned eyes, handing her a cocktail napkin, “I wasn’t expecting that much of a reaction.”

Neither was Eve. 

“I just don’t know what to do,” Eve says thickly through unexpected tears, “I like her so much? The Twilight movies aren’t even that good, and I’ve been trying to teach her how to spin a knife but she’s so  _ bad _ at it!”

“I… what?”

“Like don’t get me wrong, she cooks a mean curry, but she folds her fitted sheets and I don’t know how she does it!” Eve waves her hands around for emphasis and Bill has to dodge a rogue limb. “She’s so nice to me and treats me like an equal even though she has so many suits and her lips taste like cherries, you know?”

“No, no I don’t know,” Bill’s face is some weird mix of alarm and intrigue, “and how do you know what her lips take like?”

Eve stops sniffling abruptly. 

“I mean…” she has no follow up, because there is no follow up. She swallows her tears. 

“Eve,” he says, warning tone present, “what did you do?”

“Well, I didn’t do it, technically…” Eve trails off, avoiding his gaze as she wipes at her face with the now damp napkin.

“Oh for- Eve, did you not listen to me when I told you go wait?”

“I did. I just… ignored it.” Eve says meekly with a one shouldered shrug. Bill sighs, stares at the ceiling, then grabs his pint. 

“I don’t know why I bother to give you advice.” He tells her as he looks at her again. “I don’t think you’ve ever once taken it.”

“That’s not true,” Eve sniffs one last time and rubs at her eyes before pulling herself together, “I definitely have.”

“The time I told you not to buy that yellow shirt?”

“That’s different,” Eve scoffs, “I didn’t trust your fashion sense back then.”

“What about when I suggested you not buy that second bottle of wine at my 50th?”

“Oh come on,” Eve laughs, “it was  _ kind _ of funny when I fell off that table. Your sister laughed, anyway!” 

“When I told you to leave Niko around, oh, five years ago?”

Eve hesitates. 

“You’ve got me there.”

With a laugh, Bill shakes his head and walks over to the bar. Eve watches as he orders them another round, and as she smiles she notices the stickiness on her cheeks. 

She can’t believe she cried. She  _ never _ cries. 

It makes sense though, sort of. A total build up of emotion all tied together with a bow of secrecy. It’s enough to get anyone overwhelmed. 

Eve debates just telling him everything. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, and clearly she needs someone to share with before she implodes under the weight of her own thoughts. But then, if it got out? Somehow? If Bill slipped up and told someone who told someone who told someone who told someone who-

“Here.”

Eve takes the glass and slides it next to her unfinished ale from before. 

“Why did you do that? We still have half a pint each.”

“I feel that the following conversation may call for no interruptions.” He says seriously, before draining his remaining half. He coughs after, and winks, and Eve feels herself relax a little further. Bill is still playful. Maybe he’s not actually furious with her for ignoring his advice. 

“I’m furious with you.”

Never mind.

“But-”

“But what, Eve? If you two have actually,” he lowers his voice conspiratorially, “kissed, that’s not good. You realise she could lose her job? She might become unemployable, if news travels as fast in the solicitor world as it does in any other area of employment.”

“You think saying that is making me feel better?”

“I’m not trying to make you feel better.” Bill says. “I’m just trying to drill into you how bad of an idea this was. Is. Whatever.”

Eve finishes her first pint and pushes the glass away from her, dragging the other one forward and sipping immediately. 

“It… just… just calm down, okay?” Eve stresses. “I need you to stay calm, because I can’t be calm if you’re not calm.”

“Oh I’m calm.” Bill says simply. “It’s not me who’s potentially ruined a career and lost a divorce case.”

Eve’s beer goes down the wrong way. 

“Bill!”

Bill stares at her for a moment, face creased with worry and frustration, and then he wipes it away with his hand. 

“Okay, sorry, too far.” He admits. “Sorry. I’m just worried about you. And her, for some reason.”

“You don’t need to worry about her,” Eve tells him, “she knows what she’s doing.”

“Do you?”

Eve sighs. 

“Do I ever?”

“Good point.” Bill hums into his pint.

It’s quiet between them for a few moments, the pub noise temporarily clearer, and Eve picks up bits of conversation. People talk of jobs and relationships and children, the usual mundane paces of life, and Eve realises that hers is just another story, another timeline that exists alongside a million others. 

Who in this pub has it worse than her? Who has it better? She scans the faces to work it out. There’s an old man, grey and haggard looking, nursing a mug of ale. Maybe a widower? Maybe his wife died, and this is all he has left. There’s a woman with her friends, laughing freely, but she’s not touching her drink. Pregnant, maybe? Trying?

“Stop it.”

Eve blinks and looks back at Bill.

“Stop what?”

“That thing you do,” he says, “when you make up people’s life stories.”

“The fuck, Bill, are you in my brain or something?”

“If I was in there I’d be able to work out what’s going on with you.” He says kindly, the exasperation from before gone. “Talk to me. I promise I won’t tell you off again.”

Eve pauses and bites her lip nervously. 

“She’s so amazing, Bill, I can’t even put it into words.”

“Blimey.”

“I know.”

“Tell me again why she’s so brilliant. We talked about it before, but… refresh my memory.”

Eve takes a long drink of her beer and savours the malty taste on her tongue before answering, in an attempt to gather her thoughts.

“I’ve never met anyone like her, and I’ve met a lot of people.” Eve says. “She’s… she’s power, and light, and, and a physical force.”

“Okay, now again in English.”

Eve scoffs.

“When she talks, people listen and I get the feeling she doesn’t listen to anyone, but for some reason she listens to me. I can see it on her face, she’s genuinely interested in what I’m saying. She looks at me like… like I’m worth looking at?”

Bill smiles and nods, so she continues.

“She makes me dinner and we watch movies together, like I told you, but it’s more than that? I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like friendship, but silent inside, like… my soul settles, and it’s quiet. Or something. God, that literally makes no sense.”

She looks away from her pint to find Bill staring at her appraisingly. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” he says innocently, “you just seem so… happy.”

“Am I not usually happy?” Eve teases, but she knows there’s truth in it. “I’m always happy when I’m with you, at least.”

“Surface happy, sure.” Bill nods. “But this seems like a deep down kind of happy. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen it.”

“Oh.” Eve says, considering this. “Well. Yeah, I guess I am pretty ‘deep down happy’. But it’s not a big deal.”

“She sounds like a big deal to me.” Bill says knowingly, but this is heading into pretty emotional territory now, and Eve has already inexplicably cried once this evening.

“I mean… she is, whatever.” Eve tries to make her tone casual. “But we’re not a thing. Not until after, maybe. Hopefully.”

“But you kissed.”

“Yeah, I know, we just…” Eve sighs and wraps her fingers around her glass, “had to. We couldn’t not, anymore. The tension was unreal, you don’t understand.”

“Well,” Bill chuckles, “I’m happy you’ve finally found someone who makes you feel awake again.”

Awake. It’s exactly that. 

Villanelle has woken her up.

Bill puts his hand on her shoulder and she smiles.

“Just don’t act on that sexual tension, alright?” Bill warns her. “A kiss is a kiss, but anything more than that would just be stupid.”

Oh.

Eve purses her lips awkwardly and says nothing as Bill drinks. He looks at her once he’s finished, confused at her silence until he sees her expression. His darkens. 

“Eve…”

She drinks her beer. 

“Eve, you  _ didn’t _ .”

“We couldn’t help it! Did you not hear me about the suits? She’s a goddess in tailored blazers!”

“Oh fucking hell.”

“You know what? I don’t deserve this judgement. I haven’t had anything nice in like seven years, okay? And once, just this once, I allowed myself to indulge. Is that so wrong?”

“Yes!” Bill says with wide eyes. “This isn’t a cream cake from a fancy bakery, Eve, this is a woman’s livelihood and your own bloody divorce case!”

“Look it was just the once. Just last night. And we’re not going to do it again! We got it out of our systems, and now we’re good to go until after the divorce. Don’t worry.”

She isn’t sure if she’s trying to convince Bill or herself on any of those points. 

“I am worried.” Bill stresses. “I don’t want something happening that messes this up for you.”

“Nothing will happen.” Eve assures him, her confidence growing at her own words. “It’ll be fine.”

“Alright,” he sighs. He takes another gulp of beer, their glasses running low again as they stand in the noisy space. “Well, come on then.”

“What?” Eve asks. 

“You know what.” Bill lifts one eyebrow. “Tell me about the sex, Eve!”

She laughs, draining her beer and then leaning in. 

“You sure you want all the sordid details?”

“You absolutely know I do,” he tells her with a smile, “so get on with it. How good is she?”

“Ugh, you have no idea.” Eve groans. “Villanelle is… on another level.”

“Come to the bar with me.” Bill says. “I don’t want to wait a second more to hear about your first experience with the female form, but we need another round.”

“The female form?” Eve laughs as they push their way across the crowded floor. “I  _ am _ a female, Bill. I’m quite familiar.”

“You’re telling me having sex with her was the same as a night in with pornhub?”

“Okay, first of all, I don’t watch porn.” Eve pauses before continuing. “...often. I don’t watch it often. Second, don’t be gross.”

They reach the bar and Eve leans against the sticky wooden surface as Bill gives her a look. 

“I’m not being gross, I just want you to get on with it.”

“Okay okay,” Eve says, and she’s giddy, she’s actually giddy that she’s getting to talk about this, about Villanelle, “first, she kissed me against the door as I was about to leave.”

“Very romantic.”

“Mhm, and then we made out for a while and it was so good, even just kissing her was like… an out of body experience, or something.”

“You’ve not had good sex in a while, have you.”

“Shush,” she shuts him up, “anyway, we were kissing and it was amazing, and then, Bill, then, I put my hand in her underwear.”

“Straight for it! You dog.”

“We undressed first. Partially. And there was kissing.”

“Yes, you mentioned the kissing.”

“So we were kissing and half naked and I had my hand in her underwear and Jesus, Bill, she felt so good, like, like-”

“I know I said I wanted details,” Bill holds up a hand, “but I don’t think I need adjectives on how her vagina felt, thank you.”

“Are you sure?” Eve grins, poking him. “Because it was so- oh, two Ghost Ship ales, please.”

The barmaid that had interrupted them nods and heads over to the pumps to pour their ale as Eve looks back at Bill.

“Against the wall, Bill. I did that. Can you imagine?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Whatever,” Eve smirks, “anyway, yeah, after she’d… finished, we moved to the bedroom, and she, y’know,” Eve indicates her mouth, “and holy shit, I’ve had a lot of sex over the years and I can honestly say that men have absolutely no idea what they’re doing down there, I see that now.”

“Hey!”

“No, you don’t get it, you all suck.” Eve waves a hand. “It was… intense. Incredible. I don’t think I’ve ever orgasmed so hard in my life, and then-”

Eve stops. 

At first, she’s not sure why. Something prickles, the hairs on her arms shift without moving. She frowns, swallows, tries to mentally locate the source of her sudden discomfort, but she comes up empty. 

It all happens in a millisecond or three, a speed moment of confusion and hesitation, and then she smells it. Something in the air. 

It’s so familiar. 

Wait. 

She looks over her shoulder. 

“Niko.”

He’s there, right there, behind Eve to the left. He’s staring with his typical dark look, eyes darting between her and Bill. 

“Eve. Bill.” He murmurs, so loud in its quiet volume. Eve sees Bill nod in silent greeting in her peripheral, but all she can think is did he hear, did he hear, did he hear,  _ did he hear?  _

Niko quirks one eyebrow at Eve, and… it’s judgemental, it’s his judgemental face, he’s judging her because he heard, he must have heard and oh god, Eve has ruined  _ everything _ . 

They all stand in complete silence. Niko orders a beer while Bill and Eve wait for theirs, the busy bar slowing everything down. Did he hear? The barmaid comes with their drinks and Bill pays quietly, but they have to wait for their change because obviously, obviously this moment needs to be dragged on and on to excruciating levels, so excruciating in fact that Eve is just considering crying again, just bursting into tears and making everyone feel uncomfortable so they can all just  _ leave _ and-

“Here’s your change.”

Eve gets away from the bar as fast as she can. 

Bill finds her moments later, standing against a far wall.

He knocks her hand away from her mouth, immediately putting a stop to her nervous nail biting. 

“Stop that.” Bill says, but his voice is calm. “And stop panicking.”

“I’m not panicking.” She mumbles, barely opening her mouth.

“You are, but it’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

“What if he heard?” Eve gushes. “What if he heard what I said? Jesus Christ Bill if he tells Raymond, I’m ruined.  _ Villanelle _ is ruined... Oh my god I’ve destroyed her career, I’ve fucked it up, I’ve fucked everything up, I’ve fucked-”

“The only thing you’ve fucked is Villanelle.” Bill says with a casual one shouldered shrug. 

“Can you not joke right now? This isn’t funny.”

“Well, no, but what I just said was quite funny.”

“What have I done…”

“You’ve not done anything!” Bill stresses. “He probably didn’t hear you, he probably hadn’t been standing there that long.”

“But how do you know?”

“I don’t,” Bill shrugs with an infuriatingly calm expression, “but it’s likely. Besides, did you even say her name?”

Eve replays the conversation, tries to trace every line out of her mouth but she can’t, she’s too panicked, the sentences are a mess in her mind and she’d been so excited while talking that the memory of the words are just a fuzz of delirious static. 

“I don’t know, I can’t remember.”

“I don’t think you mentioned it once we left the table,” Bill assures her, “plus, you could have just been telling me about a dream.”

“A dream?”

“Of course!” Bill says with a smile. “You were describing a very naughty dream you had about your solicitor, tut tut Eve.”

He’s right. He’s right. 

“A dream.” Eve repeats, slowly starting to nod. “Yes, it was a dream, I was telling you about the dream I had.”

“Exactly, and what a dream it was. In fact, you never finished telling it, so please, continue.”

But the mood has shifted for Eve now, completely and utterly, the sweet of the evening turned sour. Because what if? What if?

“I...” Eve starts, looking over her shoulders, trying to find Niko in the crowd. Is he nearby? Is he still listening? What if he was recording her- “I just want to go.” 

“To another pub? Let’s finish our drinks, we just got them-”

“No, I mean, I want to leave. I want to go back to my hotel. I’m sorry.”

“Eve come on,” Bill puts a comforting hand on her shoulder and she jumps a little at the touch. He frowns at the movement. “Hey, you’re alright. Do you really want to let him drive you out of here?”

She hates that it’s true but yes, she does, she wants to run, run fast before Niko notices she’s gone and starts to chase her. 

“I can’t stay.” She pleads. “Let’s go.”

Bill sighs and studies Eve for a moment longer, then throws his hands up.

“Alright.” He says in defeat before taking a few overly large gulps of his beer, giving it a wistful stare as he puts it down on a nearby table. “Okay, after you.”

——

Eve ends up staying at Bill’s, his insistence wearing her down quickly. She’s exhausted, the emotional mix of excitement over talking about Villanelle and the fear that came with Niko’s appearance creating a turbulent storm in her chest. 

She showers, she works a little on her laptop, she tries some yoga but gives up after one half-assed pose after remembering yoga sucks and is not relaxing  _ at all. _ Now she just wants to sleep, curled up in the guest bed, leftover T-shirt from the last night spent there on and the duvet creating the perfect barrier between herself and the world. 

But she knows she can’t yet. 

She grabs her phone from under the pillows and opens up her message thread with Villanelle.

It takes her a few tries to get her voice working. 

“Hey, um… I’m sorry, I know you said we shouldn’t do this anymore, the messaging thing, but… I need to talk to you. Something happened, Niko…” Eve hesitates, stops herself from saying too much, just in case, just in case, “something happened. Let me know if I can call you, maybe? Okay. Uh… bye.”

She sends the voice note, then taps the corner of her phone into her forehead. 

“Stupid, stupid- ow”, she grunts after an accidentally hard whack, “that was dumb. You’re dumb, Eve, stupid dumb-”

She almost screams when the phone starts ringing, the shrill ringtone blaring just inches from her ear. She fumbles to answer it. 

“Hello?”

“It’s me.”

Eve shuts her eyes in relief at Villanelle’s voice. 

“Vil, hey.”

“What’s going on, what happened?”

Her voice is sharp but concerned, and Eve rushes to comfort and reassure before realising that she can’t because she is still panicking at ridiculous levels.

“Okay, um, I was at the pub with Bill and he asked me about the divorce and I ended up talking about you, and one thing led to another and I told him about last night.”

“Oh. What did you tell him?”

“I, uh…” Eve’s bites the skin of her thumb, “I told him about the kissing and the door and… after.”

Villanelle hums a little but says nothing, so Eve continues.

“Anyway, I gave him details and got all excited and....”

“What, Eve?” Villanelle encourages softly.

God, Eve hopes she’ll continue to be soft after she tells her. 

“And then I turned round and Niko was standing there.”

Villanelle says nothing for a few moments. The silence stretches like taffy, a candy Eve has never enjoyed, it sticks in her molars and makes her jaw ache and it’s happening now, again, the ache as the quiet grows longer, stickier. 

“Did you mention my name?”

Eve swallows, rubs a hand across her forehead.

“I can’t remember.”

Nothing.

This taffy silence is killing her.

“Vil, I’m so-”

“Okay. It will be okay.”

Eve frowns.

“Will it?”

“There is no use panicking.” Villanelle says calmly. “What is done is done.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Why?”

Eve’s mouth opens once, twice, fishlike. 

“Because this is my fault? I should’ve kept my mouth shut, not poured the details out in public!”

“Why did you tell Bill?” Villanelle’s voice is curious. 

“Because I was excited!” Eve almost yells, only half mindful of the sleeping baby a few rooms down. “And happy for, like, the first time in forever. I couldn’t help it!”

“You are happy?” Villanelle asks, and god, it’s practically  _ shy _ , her tone, and Eve can’t help but smile at that because Villanelle is  _ anything _ but shy, “I make you happy?”

Eve scoffs. 

“Are you kidding? Do you not remember last night? Or the past month or two?” A chuckle escapes her as she settles back against the pillows. “Maybe I should be worried about this, considering my situation and all, but, yeah... you make me  _ so _ happy.”

The quiet is no longer sticky, but filled with the softness of Villanelle’s gentle sigh. 

“You make me happy too.”

Eve tries to wrangle her grin under control.

“Well, good.” She says. “So, anyway, back to… back to  _ it _ ; what do we do?”

“You do not do anything,” and even though Villanelle is back to business, tone professional, there’s still a sweet edge to her voice, “you act normal, you act like nothing has happened. If, for whatever reason, Niko actually happens to ask you about it, if he is specific, you act like it was a hook up with some random woman.”

That doesn’t sit well with Eve.

“Or a dream.” She supplies quietly.

“Yes,” Villanelle says enthusiastically, “or a dream, that would be better, actually… a random hook up could cause an adultery issue Raymond could use against our own claim on theirs…” Villanelle trails off. Eve can practically hear her mind going, her big beautiful intelligent mind. Villanelle hums thoughtfully. “Anything believable. Even a masturbation fantasy retelling. Okay?”

“Okay,” Eve mumbles, “okay, yeah.”

“See? There is nothing to worry about. I will sort this.”

Eve wants to relax beneath Villanelle’s confident tone, but she’s still worried.

“Villanelle?”

“Eve?”

“What if he  _ did _ hear everything else? What if he heard me mention you?”

“I do not work with ‘what if’s, Eve.” Villanelle is firm, but patient. “In my line of work it is yes or it is no, there are no ifs or buts. Right now, we shall assume he heard nothing. I will deal with the alternative if it comes up.”

“But-”

“ _ If _ it comes up, Eve.” Villanelle says, voice clear. “I am very, very good at my job, and I can fix and work with any outcome this may bring, okay? Okay.”

Eve’s wish of becoming relaxed flew out the window while Villanelle spoke. She is now the opposite of relaxed, nerve endings alight, but not from anxiety.

She fidgets, shifts her legs.

“Eve, are you okay?” Villanelle asks again, because Eve hasn’t said anything, didn’t even notice herself slip into a deliciously tense silence of her own. 

“Yeah,” she says, and she isn’t surprised by the slightly rough edge her voice has taken on, “just… when you use your lawyer voice and get all… strict, like that…”

The air changes. 

“Hmm?” Villanelle hums with a smirk in her voice so blatant it makes Eve’s stomach flutter. 

“Well,” Eve murmurs, “it’s hot.”

“Oh, yes.” Villanelle practically purrs, “your power kink. You like when I am like this, don’t you?”

“I like you all the time.”

Eve doesn’t know where that came from but she lets it sit, a soft sentiment settling itself amongst embers of arousal that had just started to ignite. 

Villanelle huffs a gentle laugh.

“Well, I was going to try initiating some phone sex but that was just too sweet.”

“Yeah, sorry, I don’t know why I said that then.”

“Do not apologise for saying you like me,” Villanelle says quietly, “it is nice. No one has ever liked me before.”

“That can’t be true,” Eve scoffs, “lots of people like you! Your uncle, Hugo-”

“A different kind of like, Eve.”

Eve hesitates.

They’ve never talked about Villanelle’s love life before, she realises. It’s always been about Eve and her divorce.

“I’m sure that’s not true either. Surely you must have had girlfriends, or partners?”

“No,” Villanelle says softly, “honestly, I have never wanted one.”

Eve’s tongue feels thick.

“Oh.” She manages. 

“Before, I mean,” Villanelle says quickly, “I never wanted companionship. I just wanted to have sex, you know? A fuck and then goodbye, back to my fantastic independent life.”

It’s hard to swallow.

“And… now?”

“And now,” Villanelle says with a level of curiosity apparent, as if pondering the words as they leave her, “now, I think, companionship does not sound so bad, if it is with a person who I like. Who likes me. Someone to… watch movies with.”

With a stutter, Eve’s heart kicks back into its rhythm, her breath leaving her in a poorly controlled sigh that is shaky at best. She smiles at the ceiling.

“Like Twilight?”

Villanelle laughs, and the sound glitters.

“Ugh, even Twilight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All thoughts on yoga are my own, don't @ me.


	22. Golden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life Villanelle is having a hard fucking go of it, so I overcompensated with this. I present to you, the happiest Villanelle in town!

Eve turns everything golden. 

Villanelle’s morning of confirming details over the phone with an infuriating Raymond, a dull trip to the courthouse to request a trial date, and stepping in someone’s dropped kebab in her £600 Church’s Burwood brogues is immediately lifted by Eve’s presence. She turns gross kebab puddles golden. 

Only a new coat or a successful case has brought her this feeling before. Never a person. 

Villanelle watches as Eve attempts to spear a cherry tomato in her pasta dish, the small round fruit skittering around the plate until one last forceful stab sends it flying away from their table. Villanelle follows its movements before looking back at Eve. 

She is still staring at where the tomato has rolled beneath someone else’s table. 

“Are you okay?” Villanelle asks her with an amused smile. The other woman looks back at her as if nothing has happened. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. How are you?”

Villanelle grins. 

“You seem on edge.”

“I’m not on edge.” Eve grabs her knife and creates a barrier for the next tomato, rolling her eyes when it works perfectly, almost as if the knife and fork combo was  _ made _ for cutting and scooping food. “These tomatoes are invincible.”

Villanelle pops one of her own into her mouth with ease. Eve glares. 

“Where have you been staying?” Villanelle asks around her mouthful. 

“Bill’s. I can’t afford a hotel anymore unless it’s an emergency.”

Guilt plucks at Villanelle’s stomach. 

They haven’t talked about the fact that Eve is funnelling money into what is essentially Villanelle’s account. Villanelle charges a lot but it’s a set charge, it can’t be lowered and honestly, it should not be lowered; Villanelle is worth every penny. 

But Eve is not just a client, and Villanelle is not just her solicitor. They are obviously much more than that, yet Villanelle must continue to charge her. 

She has never felt uncomfortable charging people for her time before. Why would she? She deserves it. But now it sits unhappily in her gut, a twist that makes her want to breathe in deep and clench. 

Nothing can be done about it. 

Villanelle does not know what to say. She has the urge to apologise for the money and partly for herself. A strange feeling. 

She shoves a forkful of pesto covered pasta into her mouth. 

“Bill is great though,” Eve continues casually, not a thought spared for her comment, which helps ease some of the uncomfortable churn for Villanelle, “he and Kieko have talked about it and are happy for me to stay long term. I wanted to pay rent but they refused, so instead I’m taking up aunt duty.”

Villanelle does crack a smile at that. 

“Babysitting?”

Eve groans, but it’s good natured. 

“Yes.” She chuckles. “I have to look after Aubrey at least one evening a week and one full day a week, with the possibility of extra hours. I feel like a high schooler again.”

“You did it in high school?” Villanelle asks, smiling at the image in her head. She loves getting to know these little random facts about Eve.

“Yeah, for extra cash.” Eve sips her water. “I was saving for…” 

Villanelle tilts her head curiously when Eve trails off, brown eyes staring into her pasta as she pierces it on her fork. 

“Go on.” Villanelle encourages. 

“No, you’ll laugh at me.” Eve huffs through a smile. 

“Yes, probably.” Villanelle nods, and Eve scoffs. “What were you saving for?”

Eve drops her fork and studies Villanelle. 

“You know I’m 44, right?”

“Obviously.” Villanelle nods. “It’s in your file.”

“And you’re like… 25?”

“I am 30,” Villanelle barks a laugh, “you think I could have got to the position I am in now, degrees and all, by 25?”

“Whatever.” Eve shrugs. “Anyway, you’re a 90s kid so you won’t get it, but I was saving for… accessories. And stuff.”

“Why would I laugh at you for saving for fashion?” Villanelle asks, confused. Eve chuckles and shakes her head. 

“Sweetheart, we’re not talking about fashion.” Eve says with a grimace. “I had an  _ addiction _ . An addiction to leg warmers. Leg warmers and scrunchies and neon plastic beads and fanny packs and acrylic hoop earrings. And oversized denim jackets.”

Villanelle is silent for a moment until her laughter breaks the peace of the restaurant, drawing the attention of several other customers. 

“Oh my gosh,” she says around the laughter, “that is the best thing. Do you have pictures? I want to see little teenage Eve dressed like a rainbow threw up on her.”

Eve frowns but she’s trying not to laugh, the creases around her eyes appearing in a way that is endearing to Villanelle as she watches. 

“You will never see evidence of that era for as long as you live, Villanelle.” Eve shakes her head with finality. “No way. Now, anyway, come on, why am I here?” Her face softens a little, the start of a sad sort of look settling there. “We’re not supposed to be… hanging out, anymore.”

The mood dips. 

“I know,” Villanelle says, looking down at her near-empty plate, “but this is okay. A quick lunch once a week is fine, it is what ‘just friends’ do. This is fine.”

She hears Eve sigh gently but doesn’t look up. 

“Okay, then I look forward to our weekly ‘just friends’ date.” Villanelle’s ears perk up at date but she keeps her gaze fixed on her food as she eats. “But you wanted to talk about something?”

“Yes,” Villanelle slips into business mode a little rustier than usual, “I spoke to Raymond this morning, went over the details of the case and confirmed that we would be going ahead with the trial.”

Eve nods, twisting her lips a little. 

“I went to the courthouse to request a date. It may change though. You and Niko will receive separate letters stating the date and time you should appear in court.” Villanelle pauses to look up at Eve. “Your letter will be sent to your house, I am afraid, as it is your official place of residence.”

“Ugh,” Eve grimaces, running a hand through her hair, “that’s fine. I should probably head there at some point anyway, start divvying up our things.”

“All evidence will be submitted the day before trial,” Villanelle continues, “I have until 24 hours before the hearing to do so. It is best to leave it as late as possible.”

“Why?”

“So that if we have any surprise evidence to submit, it leaves the other party only a day to work out how to argue it.” Villanelle says with a vague smile. “That does of course work the other way around, also. They may have something surprising up their gross little sleeves, too.”

Eve looks nervous. 

“Like…” she starts, “like what Niko heard?”

“What Niko  _ might _ have heard.” Villanelle says calmly. “But yes, like that.”

Eve chews her lip, the plump skin reddening beneath her teeth.

“Shit, what would we do if-”

“Ah, no ifs, Eve.” Villanelle insists, levelling her with a confident gaze, “we deal with it if it comes to it, okay? But, if it will make you feel better, we will meet up in the next plan and work out what we will do should they bring it up. Okay?”

This seems to soothe Eve somewhat, who nods.

“Yeah, okay.”

She attempts to stab another tomato but fails spectacularly three more times before throwing the fork down with a roll of her eyes.

“Okay,” Eve declares, “I have to go, I’ve got a conference call and this place is too noisy.”

Villanelle nods, tries to swallow the disappointment she feels at Eve leaving. She knows they won’t see each other again for a while now, maybe even a week. It makes Villanelle’s chest hurt. She rubs at it unconsciously. 

“Call the office when you get the letter.” Villanelle tells her. Eve nods. 

“Will do. Bye, Vil.” and then Eve turns and leaves, not waiting for a response. Villanelle wonders if it is because Eve is feeling the same hurt in her chest that she is, if Eve is trying to make this quick and clean to avoid more of the uncomfortable soreness. 

Villanelle sighs. Not all of these new feelings are good.

She glances around, looking for the waitress so she can pay for their food, when a thud draws her attention back to the table. 

Hugo is sitting in Eve’s just-vacated seat. 

“Have you been watching us?” Villanelle says in surprise, frown already lining her features. 

“Yes,” he says simply. 

Villanelle just stares. 

“I thought you would at least try to lie about it.” She says, grumpy that Eve has gone and that Hugo is here, clearly in some kind of mood to annoy her. 

“Why?” He shrugs. “I  _ was _ following you, I wanted to know who you’re sneaking off to lunch with that isn’t me.”

Villanelle sits back in her chair and waggles her fork, narrowing her eyes at him. 

“Are you pretending you didn’t suspect it was Eve?” She asks him, because obviously he knows, has known, that it has been Eve ever since Eve walked into their office. 

“No, I knew it was Eve,” he says, “I just wanted to see it in real life.”

“Okay, well, you have seen it. Can we go now?”

“No, I’m hungry,” he says, waving at a waiter to get his attention, “order yourself a coffee and sit with me while I eat.”

“I have work to do.” Villanelle says. 

“No you don’t, I rescheduled your call with Mr Collins to an hour from now, told him an important meeting had overrun and that you want to be able to dedicate the right attention to him.”

Villanelle bristles and leans forward. 

“I did not give you permiss-”

“I don’t care,” he cuts her off. The waiter appears at that second and Hugo orders a club sandwich, plus a latte for Villanelle without asking her. When the waiter leaves, Hugo settles and props his chin on his hand, elbow leaning on the table. “So. You and the cougar are boning then.”

“Do not call her that.” Villanelle snaps. “Also, boning? Ew.”

“She’s sleeping with a hot younger woman, of course she’s a cougar.” He explains, waving a hand around as he stares at Villanelle with one quirked eyebrow. “Chill out, she’s hot too.” 

Villanelle folds her arms and looks away, but she can’t help the smile that starts to lift the corners of her mouth. She likes that Hugo thinks Eve is attractive,  _ everyone _ should think Eve is attractive. It makes pride swell in her. 

“Yes, she is.” She mumbles, and when Hugo laughs she lets the smile take hold properly, eyes still narrowed playfully. 

“Okay. So, what’s happening, why are you jeopardising our careers?”

The smile instantly drops. 

“ _ Our _ careers?”

“Yes, our careers.” He says calmly. “You know full well that if you lose this job then mine goes too. We’re tied together in this industry, remember?”

It’s a subject they barely touch upon, usually only something brought up once several cocktails have been had and drunken heart to hearts began. She purses her lips. 

“I remember.” She murmurs. 

“Have you told Eve?”

Villanelle’s eyes grow wide in alarm. 

“No, I haven’t told Eve, why would I tell her?”

“Because honesty-”

“Is the best policy, yes, I know that, I am a lawyer.” Villanelle rolls her eyes. “Plus, that is my line.”

“Then why aren’t you using it.”

A flicker of uncertainty sparks in her chest, and she hesitates before nervously looking away from Hugo. 

“Because… I don’t know, she might react badly.”

“Okay,” Hugo nods slowly, “but what if she finds out?”

“How would she find out?”

“What if I tell her?”

The uncertainty turns into simmering anger in an instant, and she leans forward. 

“If you tell her I will kill you.”

“Uh huh,” Hugo is distracted, eyeing something over Villanelle’s shoulder until the waiter steps up and puts his sandwich down, followed by Villanelle’s coffee. “Drink up!” He says cheerily, “it’s before 3pm.”

Hugo takes his first few bites in silence, groaning in appreciation for his meal and then offering some to Villanelle who shrugs and takes a bite. She will never turn down free food. 

“You know I’m right though,” he says eventually, “you really should tell her about Anna.”

The name makes her cringe a little. It was a regrettable circumstance, one that brought with it panic on her part, a lost job on Hugo’s part, and pain on- well, she doesn't care about that bit.

Villanelle had never panicked before that week, and has not panicked since. 

“Hugo,” she rolls her eyes, “I do not think it needs to be announced to Eve as a big deal, it was a long time ago-”

“Three years isn’t that long a time, babe.” Hugo interrupts her before taking an overly large bite. “And anyway, due to the…  _ nature _ , of the…  _ thing that happened _ ,” he says conspiratorially, “don’t you think Eve of all people would like to know? Considering you two being… whatever you are?”

“I don’t see why.”

“You slept with a married woman,” he says with a pointed stare, “and Eve is currently probably hurting a fair amount over her  _ husband _ sleeping with another woman.”

“I didn’t know she was married!” Villanelle’s volume picks up as she leans back heavily in her chair. “I did not know I was doing anything wrong!”

“Which is why Eve probably won’t be that bothered,” supplies Hugo, “which is why you should tell her. Because honesty.”

Villanelle had not thought of that though, had not thought of the correlation, that Eve is going through something that Villanelle herself had inadvertently helped cause in the past to another couple. 

Not that she cared about the couple. 

And, again, she did not  _ know _ they were married. She did not even know who Anna was, besides a pretty woman at a party. Villanelle did not mean to cause any harm. 

She just doesn’t care that she did. 

Well. 

She cares what happened to Hugo, because of it. That is why he is still here. 

“I think you should mention it to her.” Hugo says with a final shrug, probably recognising that Villanelle is done talking about it. “Just in case.” 

“Fine, Villanelle sighs dramatically. “I will think about it. I am not paying you for this therapy session, by the way.”

Hugo grins. 

“That’s fine, you pay me enough as a secretary.”

“I am reconsidering your wage.”

Hugo snorts, then takes another bite of his lunch. 

“Anyway,” he says after swallowing, “I didn’t realise you two had actually fucked. I was just saying that to get a rise out of you. You pretty much confirmed it though, so tell me about it.”

Villanelle had walked right into that one. Hugo has this air about him that gives the impression that he knows all. A gossip, a taddle, but Villanelle forgets that it’s mostly just confidence; he usually has no idea what he is talking about. 

“No.”

“Okay,” Hugo lifts one eyebrow, “tell me how you are then.”

Villanelle blinks. 

“What?”

“How are you?” Hugo says, watching her. “This is new to you. You don’t do relationships. How are your emotions and stuff?” He narrows his eyes. “You do have those, right?” 

“Yes I have emotions.” Villanelle huffs, and takes a sip of her coffee. “I am just good at hiding and controlling them. You do not know I’m feeling anything unless I want you to. That is how you have to be in this line of work.”

“Yeah yeah, I’m aware.” Hugo flaps a hand. “But really, Vil, how are you doing?”

Villanelle considers the question. 

It is not often she talks about how she is any deeper than surface level. She barely even spoke about her feelings as a teenager, keeping it locked tight unless something truly pushed her, unless too many built up behind her ribs, and then she’d erupt, emotions like hot lava burning anyone who tried to comfort and touch. 

She understands the benefits. She is an incredibly intelligent woman with an exceptional ability to read people, so she knows that talking about how you feel is good for the mind and soul. She just does not like to do it. It is difficult to open that lock. What if she cannot close it again? Tears make padlocks rusty. 

She could easily say nothing to Hugo and he would drop it, they have been friends for long enough now to know what the other does and does not need, but this is new for Villanelle, like he said. This is a new situation, so perhaps a new approach is needed. 

She will try. 

“I am fine, I think.” She starts, and Hugo does a good job of concealing his surprise that she has actually answered. “Which… I did not expect. I thought maybe I would not be fine. I do not know how to do all of this.”

“So… you like her.” Hugo’s question is careful, adopting a casual air to soften the big ask.

“Yes.” Villanelle says. “I do. She makes me happy. It is nice. Strange.”

“Feeling happy is strange to you?” Hugo looks confused. Villanelle smiles a little, sips more coffee. 

“No. I mean, it is strange for someone else to make me happy. I have never needed or wanted that before. But now Eve makes me feel happy. I want to see her more and more. All the time. We cannot hang out now, after what Raymond said, and I do not like it. I want to see her every day.”

Hugo stays quiet, appraising her as he chews slowly. 

“I want to talk to her about work and our families and upcoming movies. I want to share blankets. I want to watch TV with her.”

Villanelle is surprised at herself at this point, and is impressed that Hugo has managed to contain his reaction to only widened eyes. She will not allow herself to regret her words. Instead, she welcomes the words, lets them fill her chest with warmth at their truth. 

Hugo finally breaks eye contact and shakes his head in disbelief. 

“Lord, that’s adorable.”

Villanelle lets out a half chuckle, tones of exasperation and confusion twisted through it. 

“I know,” she agrees, “I do not know what to do with it.”

Hugo leans back, his food unfinished, arms reaching up in a stretch. 

“You take it as it is, babe.” He says while he groans with the pull. “Go with the flow.”

“That’s it?” Villanelle deadpans. “That is your advice?”

Hugo drops forwards again and picks his food back up, fixing her with a clear gaze, honest and simple. 

“Yes. Don’t think too much, don’t try to explain it to yourself. Don’t categorise, don’t organise, don’t label. You don’t need to. Just let it happen.” He shrugs and brings the food to his mouth before pausing. “Does she like you?”

“She says she likes me a lot.” Villanelle says quietly. 

“And you like her.”

It’s a statement, but Villanelle nods anyway. 

“Very much.”

“Then you're golden,” Hugo shrugs. “That’s all you need.”

Golden. The word has taken up residence in her mind today. She smiles, notes the shy feel of it. 

“That is all we need.”

“Yep!” Hugo says, tucking back into the club sandwich. “Now, tell me about the cougar sex.”

It breaks the tension and Villanelle laughs, relieved and content. 

“No.”

“Damn.”

——

Days pass. 

She has not seen or spoken to Eve. 

Things are a little less gold. A dull brass. 

Villanelle is working when she hears the main office phone ring. 

It breaks her concentration, despite how faint it sounds through the wall. She’d managed to make some excellent progress with a case, had become immersed in reading the mountain of papers in front of her, completely absorbed with note making, but the sound of ringing has startled her back to the present. She has missed lunch.

She hears Hugo answer the phone, hears his murmured voice. He talks on and off for a minute and the lilt to his tone seems light and playful. She makes a mental note to congratulate him on his improved customer service persona. 

The buzz from her intercom has her jumping violently, so lulled she was by the reading and the peace and the thinking. 

She clicks the button. 

“Yes, Hugo?”

“Eve is on the line for you.”

So that’s why he was being nice.

Villanelle feels that now familiar flutter between her ribcage, feels something rattle excitedly there. Hugo’s voice betrays nothing, no hint of a smirk, and Villanelle really does need to pay the guy more credit. He may be a pain, but he is a good one to trust. 

“Thank you, put her through.”

It clicks off and Villanelle waits the seconds or weeks it takes for the light on her desk phone to blink, indicating a waiting call. 

It blinks. 

Villanelle snatches the receiver up. 

“Eve, hello.” She says, then immediately she swallows and closes her eyes because her voice seems rushed to her own ears, too eager. But maybe Eve likes it? Villanelle doesn’t know. Doesn’t know what is and isn’t okay in a… relationship sort of thing. 

She will google self help books after this call, or maybe articles on how to talk around your crush and other american sounding things. There has to be something that will teach Villanelle how to act.

“Hey, Vil, how are you?”

Eve’s voice instantly calms her. 

“I am fine, thank you. How are you?”

“I’m…” Eve trails off and Villanelle hears a shuffle, loud and harsh, followed by Eve cursing. “Shit, fucking box, I- sorry, I’m okay. I’m at my- Niko’s- the house.”

“Oh?” Villanelle feels her forehead crease. Eve’s answering hum is distracted. 

“Yeah, I swung by to see if the letter was here yet. It was delivered today, I nearly slipped on it on the doormat when I came in. And then I decided to hang around because I love pain.”

Villanelle chuckles at her delivery. 

“What are you doing

“Well, when I got in I realised a few of my paintings were missing from the hallway. I went into the living room and there are boxes with- with some of my stuff in them, just… roughly thrown in. No care, whatsoever.”

“That is not kind.” Villanelle frowns. 

“No, it’s not.” Huffs Eve. “I don’t know why I expect anything more though, this is who he is. I guess he’s decided he’s keeping the house, then.”

Villanelle straightens in her chair. 

“Without consulting you?” 

“It would appear so.” Eve murmurs. “Maybe he feels like he deserves it after having to suffer me for more than a decade.”

“Eve, do not say that.” Villanelle says sharply, “that is not true at all. Besides, he is cheating on you. You deserve the house.”

“Honestly? I don’t even want it.” Eve tells her. “Too many… memories attached, or something. It just would have been nice to talk about it first. Or at the very least he could have  _ placed _ my art and books into the boxes, not fucking tossed them in.” There’s another rustle, metallic sounding, then a crunch. “Oh for- he’s broken a frame. Asshole.”

Villanelle tries desperately to think of something to say to take away the stressed out tone in Eve’s voice. 

“At least he has helped you get a head start on packing?”

Eve’s chuckle is soft, her heart not in it. 

“I guess so.” She says, deflated. 

Villanelle hesitates and tries not to feel concerned, but she cannot help but worry. Eve sounds so sad and dejected about Niko, and it is hard for Villanelle to understand this kind of loss. 

She lets herself get swept up in nerves for a moment. Is she some kind of rebound for Eve? Is Eve just looking for something to make her feel good during all of this? 

Villanelle bites too hard into her thumb and gasps a little at the sting. Looking down, a dot of shining red begins to swell at the corner of her nail. She sighs, annoyed. Villanelle dismisses the rebound thought. She mentally scolds herself for her selfish anxieties, because Eve is not like that. Eve is good and kind and likes Villanelle.

Villanelle just wants to understand.

“Are you working from home today?”

“It’s my day off.” Eve says. “Why?

“Come to the office, we should talk in person.”

“Oh,” says Eve, clearly surprised, “uh, I thought… I thought we weren’t supposed-”

“This is a case matter,” Villanelle interrupts, trying in vain to keep the smile from her voice, “we need to discuss the court dates. It won’t take long. Just a quick visit.”

“Um, let me just…..” Eve mumbles. There’s the sound of something heavy being pushed, then a sharp exhale of breath. “Okay, I’ll be there soon. 

The call ends with a click and is followed by the dial tone, and Villanelle drops the receiver into its cradle. 

Eve is coming. 

She gets to see Eve.

The brass is getting shinier by the second. 

At first, Villanelle waits. She sits and stares out the window for five minutes before spinning to her computer and googling ‘how to make your girlfriend happy’, because ‘the girl you like’ sounds silly, but it is full of articles written by men for men, and unless she learns how to grow a beard and groom it well, there’s nothing in their lists she doesn’t already do. Which makes her feel quite nice. 

She checks her watch. 

Eight minutes have passed. 

Villanelle groans and stares at the ceiling for a moment, then shakes herself, trying to recentre her focus on the stack of papers before her. 

Earlier they were exciting and promising and interesting, a real activity, a real brain teaser, a real monkey maker. Now they are just paper and ink. Black and white. Boring. 

She pulls the smaller stack she’d been going through before the call towards her and starts to read, but the words blur and she’s daydreaming, picturing Eve walking through the door looking forlorn and Villanelle standing and sweeping her into a hug, peppering her with kisses until she giggles and squirms, and then they kiss sweetly and go out for dinner and-

Villanelle is shocked that her daydream didn’t immediately derail into sex. Another  _ new _ thing for her. She should start a list. 

The papers are not going to work, obviously, so Villanelle gets up and grabs her handbag. Locking her office door behind her she breezes by Hugo. 

“Coffee?” She asks him. At the lack of answer she turns to him, away from the elevator. “What?”

He looks confused. Alarmed. On edge. 

“What, Hugo? Are you okay?”

“You’re offering to get me coffee?” He asks slowly, palms on his desk, fingers spread wide. She tilts one eyebrow up.

“Yes?” She says. “Do you… not want one?”

“Of course I want one,” he says immediately, “you’ve just never asked before.”

“I have.” Villanelle scoffs. 

“No, you haven’t, I get the coffee, I always get the coffee. That’s like, my job.”

“You’re a secretary.

“Yes, and you send me on a daily coffee run, it’s the only consistent thing about my role. Why are you offering to get it today?”

Villanelle tries to look innocent, which in hindsight is not wise because the second her eyes widen and her lip starts to pout, Hugo smirks. 

“Eve’s coming in, isn’t she.”

“Do you want a coffee?” She says, voice slightly higher than normal as she forces it out in irritation over whatever look Hugo is giving her. 

“Iced, please.” He chuckles, looking back at his computer screen. “One pump of vanilla.”

Villanelle nods and the elevator behind her pings, the doors sliding open to greet her as she turns. She hops in, skips, maybe, and presses the button for the ground floor.

She wonders if Eve calls it the first floor like other Americans, despite having lived here for a while. The idea makes Villanelle chuckle. Imagine, the first floor being on the  _ ground,  _ instead of the first floor  _ above _ the ground. How funny. 

The coffee place near their tower was fairly quiet for early afternoon, which in central London means she only had to wait five minutes in the queue. She ordered Hugo’s drink then added another for herself and for Eve, but asked for Eve’s without the vanilla. She knows Eve doesn’t like her coffee overly sweet. 

In no time she’s stepping back out of the elevator, dropping Hugo’s cup onto his desk as she passes, purposefully ignoring the smirk still on his face as she goes. 

In her desk chair, sipping on the cold coffee, Villanelle checks the time. She had passed 22 minutes successfully, plus the 8 from before. Half an hour! Villanelle deserves a reward. 

Villanelle clicks around on her computer until Spotify loads up, then she scrolls her homepage until she finds the playlist. 

Pop Goes Classical. 

Pop songs played with classical instruments, Villanelle’s favourite. Pianos and cellos make everything seem so much more dramatic, and suddenly a boring old song is transformed into something interesting. Villanelle grabs the stack of papers from before and leans back in her chair, refreshed with her icy coffee and energetic music. 

She gets two pages in before she’s daydreaming again. 

——

“Knock knock.”

Villanelle’s back goes rigid with excitement as Eve sticks her head around the door, papers sprawled across her lap forgotten. 

“Who’s there?”

Eve’s mouth opens then shuts before curling into an amused smile, brows furrowed. 

“No, I- I’m not making a joke, I’m just saying that I’m here. You know? ‘Knock knock’?”

“Oh. But you knocked, so I already know you are here. Why say knock knock when I can already see you?”

Eve purses her lips then laughs. 

“Nevermind.” She says with a smile. “It’s just a stupid saying, don’t worry about it.”

Villanelle shrugs because yes, many English phrases are stupid, do not even get her started on being underneath the weather or beating around bushes. 

“How are you?” Villanelle asks, feeling the light shine from every corner as Eve approaches and slumps down in the chair opposite her desk, smiling at the iced coffee placed there just for her. 

“Still fine,” Eve chuckles, “we spoke like 45 minutes ago.”

“I know,” Villanelle shrugs, a little embarrassed. Maybe she needs to reread those articles. “Just checking.”

Eve smiles quietly. 

“You’re so sweet.”

Reread  _ cancelled _ . 

Villanelle beams. She is  _ sweet _ . 

“So, let's talk about the case then. The date and stuff.” Eve says, leaning back and getting more comfortable in the large chair. 

It takes a moment for Villanelle to remember that that is why Eve is here, what she had said to get Eve here. 

“Oh, right, yes,” Villanelle says, gathering up her piles of paper and stacking them to the side. Eve watches, amused, as Villanelle attempts to slide it all over without mixing anything up. “Your letter should state July 13th, 14:00, correct?” Villanelle recalls the tentative details given to her at the courthouse, now confirmed. 

“Yep,” Eve nods, “about five weeks from now. What do we do until then?”

“We wait.” She says, but Villanelle swears the corner of Eve’s eye twitches at those words, like they have struck something in her. “Is that… okay?” 

“Yeah, sorry, just…” Eve trails off and huffs a laugh, “a lot of waiting, recently.”

Oh.

“Yes,” Villanelle nods with realisation, “a lot. I am sorry.”

“No, it’s fine, it’s- it will be worth it. All of the waiting.”

The smile Villanelle receives is bright but small, full of promise and hope and other nice gooey things that Villanelle has never wanted before. She swallows, fights the blush crawling up her cheeks because god, what is she turning into? A fearsome lawyer and intimidating woman reduced to some… soft, pink bear, or, or a needy kitten, or-

“Was there anything-”

“Are you sad?” Villanelle blurts before she can stop herself. “About the boxes?”

If Eve is startled she hides it well, just tilts her head the tiniest bit and narrows her eyes slightly in that focussed way Eve has. 

“Yeah,” she says slowly, and Villanelle is borderline furious to feel her own heart sink. “But not… not because of him. It’s just sad when something… fails, y’know? We used to be so in love. I think, anyway. But sometimes things don’t work. Which is sad.”

The temptation to nip at her thumbnail has Villanelle tucking her hand beneath her elbow. 

“Do you wish it did work?” Villanelle is desperate for the answer, both wanting to know everything she can about the inner workings of Eve’s mind and heart, and wanting to put her misplaced anxieties to rest.

Eve sighs, runs a hand through her hair. 

“God, I don’t know. It’s hard because I can’t imagine it. I mean, he’s an asshole, so regardless of whether we worked or not he probably still would’ve ended up being an asshole. So… no. I don’t wish it worked. I’m glad it didn’t, actually.”

“But…” Villanelle starts, leaning forward with interest, eyes wide, “divorces are so expensive. And, and you have spent 13 years married to him. Is that not… a waste?”

“No.” Eve wrinkles her nose with a little smile. “Do you know why?”

“Why?” Villanelle asks, eager but quiet, hanging from Eve’s every word. 

“Because if not for Niko, I never would have met this smoking hot blonde I know now. If I hadn’t met him and loved him and married him and grew apart from him and hated him, I never would’ve walked into this stupidly fancy office and met this stupidly fancy lawyer with amazing eyes and an amazing smile and amazing boobs. And the  _ suits _ , oof, don’t even.”

There must be light, golden rays of light, leaking from Villanelle. She feels it, the blinding warmth of it, the glow pouring from her into the room and wrapping around Eve and pulling her in, through Villanelle’s chest, into her heart which thumps wildly, pathetically, so gloriously and beautifully pathetic. 

Eve’s eyes have lit up as she stares at Villanelle, gaze darting across her face. 

Maybe Villanelle is glowing for real. 

“Who is this blonde?” Villanelle asks, aiming for humour but just sounding breathless, “I will fight her.”

Eve laughs, loud and free, and Villanelle grins at the sound and the look and the air around them and she thinks that maybe she will never stop grinning, never ever. 

“You know,” Villanelle says when Eve quietens, “I think maybe we would have found each other anyway.”

Eve bites her lip in delight, scrunches her nose up, looks away. 

“That is incredibly sappy and romantic.”

“Mm,” Villanelle hums, still staring at nothing but Eve. “I never used to be like this. It is… weird.”

Eve sobers, but still smiles. 

“Good weird?” She asks shyly. 

“Good weird.” Villanelle says softly. Eve shakes her head gently, curls bouncing, an attempt at shaking off something, maybe. 

“Then I can deal with weird.”

Neither of them say anything, and it isn’t until she feels the touch of Eve’s fingertips that Villanelle realises she has been sliding her hand across the desk, leaning forward more and more until she is almost slumped against it, arm outstretched. Eve chuckles, wraps her fingers around Villanelle’s. 

Eve’s sigh is quiet. 

“I miss you.”

It’s a heavy thump, a painful one, that Villanelle’s heart gives at Eve’s words. 

“I miss you too.” She murmurs. “I have never missed anyone before. How do I fix it?”

The fingers tangled with her own squeeze and then release, leaving Villanelle to pout as she lies folded over the desk’s polished surface. 

“You don’t.” Eve chuckles. “We just have to get on with it. And eventually…”

Villanelle sits up. 

“Eventually?”

“I mean, I was kind of hoping you’d finish the sentence.” Eve says, smiling awkwardly. “What… what do you want? After?”

“You.” Villanelle’s answer is quick and easy. 

“Okay, charmer, yes, but what do you want?” Eve asks, “the other day you said you’ve never had or wanted a relationship before. Which is fine! You know, everyone is different, sexuality and dating preferences are so complex these days and- okay, basically I just, I don’t know if you want me the way I… want you.”

Eve is nervous now, earlier confidence and flirtatious looks replaced with a shifting gaze and a bite to the inside of her cheek. 

“How do you want me, Eve?” Because Eve is nervous but so is Villanelle, she does not know what she is supposed to say, does not know if she can say what she wants to say in case it frightens Eve. New new  _ new _ . 

Eve sighs and locks onto Villanelle, brown eyes wide, honest and clear. 

“I don’t want to be completely honest if it makes you uncomfortable and, and I’ll be fucking embarrassed if you don’t want me in the same way after I tell you how I want you, and-”

“Eve.” Villanelle cuts off the rambling, cute as it is, desperate to hear the end. Her heart pounds harder. 

“I want you in all the ways. I want to be with you, Villanelle. In… in whatever way I can be with you. I’ll take anything. I like you… an alarming amount, considering the amount of time we’ve known each other and the… external circumstances.” Eve takes a breath and smiles hopefully. “But, yeah. That’s what I want.”

The light overwhelms her. 

“Oksana.”

It tumbled out of Villanelle’s mouth, rising on a sea of gold. 

Eve looks confused.

“What?” 

“Um… my name.” Villanelle says. “My name is Oksana.”

“Wait,” Eve looks bewildered and interested all at once, a mix of emotion on her face that Villanelle can’t help but laugh softly at, “your name isn’t Villanelle?”

“It is,” Villanelle nods, “and it isn’t. I picked up Villanelle in my late teens, used it when I went to university. It is like a stage name, it is my confident name. My lawyer name. It is my name, but Oksana is also my name.”

“Oh.” Eve’s mouth forms a perfect circle as she blinks rapidly. “I.. okay, well, that’s… fun.”

“Fun?” Villanelle chuckles. 

“No, I mean, wow, okay,” Eve shakes herself a little, “okay. Well, what would you like me to call you?”

And for the first time in her life, Villanelle asks “what would  _ you _ like to call me?”

Eve furrows her brow softly as she thinks, and when she looks back up she looks curious. 

“Well, you are both. Can I call you both?”

“I would like that.” Villanelle shrugs one shoulder in what hopes appears casual while smiling. “Both is good.”

“Okay, now that  _ that _ sudden… revelation, is out of the way,” Eve laughs, “what do you think? About… about what I said, I mean. About how I want you.”

Villanelle reaches and takes Eve’s hand again, no longer slumping forward but keeping her back as straight as she can, wanting to appear as confident as possible, not wanting any space for Eve to doubt her words. 

“I do not know how to do this. Relationships, you know.” Villanelle starts. “But this is what I want: I want to eat dinner with you and watch movies with you, and I want to make you coffee and I want you to sleep at my house. I want to go on walks with you. I want to tell people that you are mine.”

Eve blinks. 

“A bit possessive.” She says, and Villanelle swallows nervously. 

“Is that bad?”

“I like it.”

“Oh.” Villanelle breathes. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Eve smiles.

It’s silent, their hands resting on the desk, Villanelle’s thumb stroking gently across Eve’ knuckles. 

Villanelle sighs. 

“I really want to have sex with you right now.”

Eve’s laughter bursts from her. 

“God, me too.” and then Eve is eyeing the office, maybe going for subtle but failing. 

“Eve!” Villanelle scolds, delighted. “We are not having sex in my office!”

The blush on Eve’s cheeks is immediate, and she gapes. 

“I wasn’t- I just-”

“Uh huh,” Villanelle smirks, “I will file this interest in public sex away for later, okay?”

Eve is fighting a smile and an eye roll, Villanelle can tell.

“I should probably go.” Eve says with a sigh, eyes on their hands. “I don’t want to, but… Unless there’s anything else we need to go through?”

“As much as I want to create random paperwork for you to fill out to keep you here,” Villanelle says, also looking at their hands, “I would have to start charging you. Konstantin, he will know something is up if you are here for longer than ten minutes and there is no invoice.”

“God, I forgot about that.” Eve rubs her forehead. “The charge, I mean.”

Villanelle swallows in an attempt to push down the guilt that once again sits heavy at her chest and throat.

“I wish I did not have to.” Villanelle murmurs. Eve looks up then, hurriedly, shaking her head.

“No, no, it’s okay,” she tells Villanelle earnestly, “it’s your livelihood. It’s not your fault we… y’know.”

Villanelle tilts her head and smiles.

“Want to be each other’s?”

Eve opens her mouth to say something but it turns into a wide grin instead, and she shakes her head at Villanelle.

“Exactly.” She says finally, cheeks dusted a lovely pink. “I’m fine paying for the parts that need to be paid for.”

Villanelle squeezes her hand as she sighs.

“I am sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Eve is calm, still smiling, “I’m not sorry at all. The important parts are free.”

——

Villanelle lies in bed later that night, face freshly oiled with rose hip, hair loose and soft around her shoulders, and she thinks.

She has to charge Eve for her time, and she hates it, but she has no choice. It must be done. So she props herself up against her pillows and tries her best to focus on a solution.

How can she make it up to Eve? There must be something she can do, something to make things seem more… equal. And yes, she knows that technically they are, because it is not like Eve is paying Villanelle to just sit around and do nothing, Villanelle is getting Eve out of a marriage, probably two hundred and fifty grand richer.

But still, Villanelle feels the imbalance, the guilt.

She thinks of Eve’s visit earlier that day, their talk, their coffees.

Villanelle bolts upright.

She grabs her phone and types a message to Hugo, fingers furious over the screen.

Villanelle: HUGO

His reply is quick.

_ Hugo: AH, what? _

Villanelle: I need you to do something for me tomorrow.

_ Hugo: Okay? Can’t you tell me tomorrow? _

Yes, she could, but also, no.

Villanelle: No. I need you to contact Eve and find out her work schedule for the next few weeks. I’d like to know when she is at work and when she is not.

There’s a longer wait this time and Villanelle scrolls mindlessly through twitter, impatient.

_ Hugo: Now that definitely could have waited until tomorrow. _

Villanelle: Whatever. Will you do it?

_ Hugo: As your secretary: yes. _

_ Hugo: As your friend: don’t text me after 10. _

Rolling her eyes, Villanelle relaxes against her pillows, smiling as her plan comes together.

Villanelle: Thank you.

_ Hugo: Uh huh. We’ll talk about it at work. Night x _

Villanelle holds her phone to her chest. He’s right about talking about it tomorrow. They should not be texting about personal matters involving Eve, but Villanelle had purposefully kept details out just in case someone happened to pull records. There was nothing suspicious in their conversation, and the worst that could happen would be Villanelle getting a slap on the wrist for texting Hugo about work regarding a client after hours.

Villanelle squirms excitedly.

She is going to get Eve coffee delivered, straight to her desk at her office, every day she is at work. Eve will sit surrounded by her papers and articles and typewriters and… stuff, and then a coffee will be delivered to her, hot and fresh.

Maybe by Hugo. Villanelle hasn’t worked that part out yet.

Smiling wide and feeling good about this clever plan that she should definitely upload to one of those boyfriend sites, because Villanelle could teach them a thing or two, Villanelle puts her phone on charge and gets comfortable on her side.

She is almost asleep when a thought jolts her back to consciousness.

Her eyes flash open, and she talks aloud into the darkness.

“Oh my god I am going to buy her a new bag.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES I’M STILL ON THE GROUND/FIRST FLOOR THING.
> 
> Also that playlist is one of the best on Spotify btw, just saying.
> 
> Also @spoonianii- I hope your midterm went okay!!
> 
> Also have you read the kind of almost step sisters fic yet? Bam! Boobies out


	23. The exact opposite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picture this: Eve, that brown blouse with the black spots that Sandra wore. Villanelle, the iconic velvet bomber jacket with the cats. Put them together. Nice.
> 
> TW: section involving emotionally abusive language, please be careful if this can be triggering to you x

It’s a waiting game. 

Three weeks pass by.

A waiting game. Waiting for… so much. 

Waiting for the trial. Waiting for a win. Waiting for freedom. Waiting for Villanelle. 

Villanelle. Oksana. Villanelle. Oksana. 

Waiting for her. Waiting for everything that she is, that she can give Eve, that Eve can give her. 

Waiting for mornings under sheets, nights under stars. For evenings dancing in the kitchen, for afternoons drinking tea in the garden... 

The real romantic crap, like in the movies. The stuff you don’t think exists, at least not for you. Those ideals made for the viewers and the readers, the stuff that makes them long dreamily for their chance at love, the stuff that makes them turn in on themselves because they know they’ll never get it, because it isn’t real, none of it’s real, it’s scripted. 

But maybe life is a script. Maybe we are the characters that fill it and we write our own stories. We storyboard our own lives. Destiny, etc.

Oh that is  _ terrible _ .

Eve scoffs at her internal monologue as she sits on the tube. 

True, our lives are our own and we forge our own path and blah blah blah, but this kind of stuff simply… can’t be real. Can she really have those mornings and nights, those evenings and afternoons? Or are they restricted to fairytales only, to romcoms and sitcoms and the novels women pack in their suitcases to read on their holidays.

Does Eve get to have those things?

As a child she loved to play with those fantasies, loved to dip her toes into the plot points forced upon us by society, the handsome prince and the vine covered castle and the happily ever after. Disney, man.

She wasn’t obsessed with it like a lot of the other kids, no way. Eve has always had a realistic head on her shoulders even when she was young, but that didn’t mean she stopped herself from imagining it sometimes, a view of her own happy ending. She’d work hard, learn lots, get smart. Find a job, find a house, find a prince. She would be her own woman but she’d have her own man, and they would work in perfect harmony together forever and always, equals in their own made up world of make believe with pizza for dinner every single night.

Obviously that isn’t exactly how it went; she’d realised pretty quickly that the tv shows and the movies and the books had lied. The learning and the job she totally smashed, in the bag, checked it off the list, but the man? She’d learnt a few years into marriage that fairytales are just that. 

Does the flutter for Villanelle that sits high in Eve’s chest mirror the one she’d felt with Niko, all the way at the start? This hope she has, filling her insides with warmth, was that there back then too? 

It is hard to imagine that she’d ever felt the same way about Niko as she does Villanelle. She can’t recall this stir, this shift, doesn’t recognise its shape. But she’d married Niko, in sickness and in health till death do us part and so on, so there must have been something in Eve that made her think they’d last forever. 

She had loved him, of course, she knows that. She remembers the love, overwhelming and overpowering, an ache in her very bones at the thought of not being with him, but had the ache ever been accompanied by a flutter? Had it been something as delicate yet intense as this?

Perhaps. It was a long time ago and Eve can’t fully remember. Part of her hopes that it did exist because she hates the thought that she married Niko too soon, or dove into the marriage unaware that her heart wasn’t all the way in it; despite everything, she wants it to have been real. But part of her hopes that it didn’t exist, that she never felt that flutter for him, because if it did and they ended up how they did, then what’s to say that won’t happen with her and Villanelle? If the flutter existed for Niko in the way it exists for Villanelle, could they potentially have the exact same end result?

The carriage jolts suddenly, lights flickering and metal lurching as the passengers are shaken, yet there is barely a grunt of surprise or fear, as always. Eve covertly looks around and watches the passengers act like nothing happened, and maybe they’re right, maybe nothing happened at all. Maybe Eve’s brain simply supplied a distraction to pull her away from spiralling thoughts. If it wasn’t for the fact that her snoozing neighbour is now slumped heavily against her side, she might even believe it. 

She looks up at the digital screen. Two stops away. 

Eve lets her mind wander back to Villanelle, allows herself to indulge for the remaining three minutes she knows her journey has. 

They’ve seen each other twice since meeting last minute in Villanelle’s office, when Villanelle had revealed Oksana, where Villanelle had given off this glow that Eve had wanted to wrap herself up in, a blissful sort of happiness that the other woman seemed unable to control. Eve blushes at the thought that she had caused that within the other woman. 

Eve thinks of the flutter, how it feels as if it will never fade, as if it will stay safe within her ribcage like the most beautiful bird, perfectly content in a cage of gold. 

What happened to the bird she had for Niko? The cage must have rusted, fallen into shadow, and the bird had become cramped and uncomfortable and broken free.

Will this new bird want to break free? Right now it chirps so happily, stretches its wings in its roomy home bathed in light by a gorgeous window, open wide to allow a summer breeze to roll in. It doesn’t feel like it will ever want to leave. 

Eve never wants it to leave. 

But the one before did. Did it leave because of Niko, or because of what Eve had become with Niko? Will Eve cause this new cage to rust, too? Will she drive this new bird away?

“The next station is Liverpool Street.”

People begin to rise and push towards the door, and Eve joins them. 

——

The man she’s meeting in a pre-interview manner over dinner, Daryl Barns, is a nice guy, a recovered drug addict, and he’s hopefully going to help Eve with her current story on the lack of resources for drug addict recovery in London. With smart glasses and a bushy but well maintained beard, he’s a polite man around Eve’s age, and she thinks she may have scored a future interview.

They get to know each other. Daryl needs to know that he can trust Eve, needs to know that her story will be tasteful and won’t collapse his new rapidly growing business, and Eve needs to know that Daryl’s story is a good fit for her article, and that he’s not lying or exaggerating.

They talk about his difficult past, They talk about his family, his wife and two young children and their dog, Jonathon, “I didn’t name him,” he’d laughed, “the kids did, they are  _ not _ imaginative”, and they talk about the incredible charcuterie board of meats and cheeses they’re sharing. 

“Thank you again, Mr Barns,” Eve tells him as they snack on the food.

“Please, call me Daryl,” he smiles, “and thank you for talking to me, Ms Polastri.”

“Eve,” she replies in kind, flashing a humoured smile, “Polastri is my soon to be ex-husband.” 

“Oh, my apologies,” he chuckles, “divorces, eh?”

“You’ve been divorced?” Eve asks.

“Yes. I first got married in my very early twenties.” He shakes his head with a laugh. “Far too young. She left because of the drugs. I was stealing from her.”

They talk a little more, Eve outlining her article and what she’s aiming for, Daryl sharing anecdotes about life in recovery nearly fifteen years on, until they’re disturbed by a small commotion behind them. A large guffaw of laughter bursts from several banker type people a few tables away from them. Eve glances behind her at the group, all dressed in expensive looking suits.

Daryl chuckles again, drawing Eve’s attention back to him. 

“I used to want to be just like them,” he said, “back in uni. I thought the clothes and the obnoxious attitude were what made you into a success. Well… that and a cocktail of expensive drugs.”

Eve nods, interested.

“So-”

A flash of blonde over Daryl’s shoulder. Someone walking through the busy restaurant bar, glimpses of a dark sparkling bomber jacket, long legs, and-

Villanelle is here. She sits at a table not far from their own, and two men already seated greet her.

“I ordered you a scotch.” Eve hears one of the men say, and she watches Villanelle’s side profile slide perfectly into view. 

“Thank you,” Villanelle says with a smile, “apologies for my lateness, I was-”

“Working.” The other man says for her, grinning. He is in his sixties, Eve guesses, salt and pepper hair and beard, dark coat on over his dark suit despite being inside. 

“Somebody has to keep the firm running.” Villanelle teases, and the first man laughs.

A throat being cleared brings Eve’s attention back to Daryl, who is smiling at her, one eyebrow raised. 

“Oh, gosh, sorry.” Eve says hurriedly. “I totally zoned out there for a second.”

“No problem.” He says warmly. “Shall we continue?”

——

The next time Eve allows herself to look past Daryl’s shoulder is when he is checking his phone, crunching on a cracker topped with cheese

Eve stares at Villanelle’s side profile indulgently, traces the lines of it in the dim lighting. She hasn’t seen her in five days, and now she’s not even allowed to look. She could, of course, but that would be unprofessional; Eve is here for work, and so it seems is Villanelle. 

The blonde is chatting animatedly with the two men, telling a story maybe and waving her hands around. They look enraptured, the younger of the two nodding along while the older man rolls his eyes fondly. She captures attention like it was made solely for her. 

Eve sighs, silently. 

And Villanelle looks over. 

Surprise registers on those delicate features first, then happiness, then… suspicion, as hazel eyes dance over the back of Daryl’s head. Eve is quick to shake her head subtly as something close to anger darkens Villanelle’s features. 

This makes the blonde tilt her head in confusion, still frowning, so Eve mouths ‘work’, and Villanelle blinks once, twice, then her shoulders relax. A smile fills her face and it’s clearly nothing short of total relief, which does zero to calm the butterflies tearing their way through Eve’s insides at the excitement of seeing Villanelle in person, of Villanelle seeing her. 

‘Hi’ Eve mouths, smiling too.

‘Hi’ Villanelle mouths back. 

Eve notices one of the men start to turn to look in her direction and Villanelle must see the same, because she suddenly hits her hand onto the table top and starts a new story in an enthusiastic voice, drawing the men back in again.

Eve grins to herself, sees Villanelle flash her the quickest of winks, then looks down at the near empty charcuterie board. Daryl hums, and Eve glances back up the see him rubbing a hand over his beard. 

“Eve, excuse me but I just need to make a quick call.” He tells her, picking his napkin up from his lap. “It appears my kids are causing havoc.”

“Please.” Eve says, gesturing away from the table, and he nods gratefully. As he walks away, she looks back up to find Villanelle staring at her once again. 

The men are now in their own conversation, the young one babbling a bit and the older one squinting his eyes as if disbelieving of what the man is saying, but Villanelle is uninvolved, staring straight at Eve, coy smile curling her lips. 

‘You look good’ the blonde mouths, eyes slowly darting down over Eve’s torso above the tabletop and back up again. 

Eve is wearing a soft blouse of chocolate brown covered in black oval spots and her hair is styled in the best way she knows how, product woven through her curls to help them keep their shape and shine. She’s even wearing her thick rimmed glasses, something she doesn’t think Villanelle has seen before. 

‘Love those’ Villanelle taps her own face just by her eye, indicating Eve’s glasses as if reading her mind. 

The distance between them gives Eve a little extra confidence than usual, so she tosses her hair over her shoulder and peers at Villanelle over her glasses. Villanelle’s lips part slightly, so Eve gives her a dramatic flutter of eyelashes. 

Villanelle’s smile is dazzling. 

The blonde leans back and drapes her arm over the back of her chair. The angle exposes Villanelle’s open velvet bomber jacket and collarbone as well as the vast expanse of skin that dips down into cleavage, and Eve takes a deep breath in as she sees one of the two moles that she knows sit nestled between Villanelle’s breasts. The zip has no business being that far down, and Eve will be forever grateful for it. 

When she glances back up, the blonde is smirking.

For some bizarre reason the two men seem unaffected by how Villanelle looks, and Eve decides that they must be either very old friends, related, or gay, because even with her long distance view, Eve feels herself heat up at the image of the blonde.

The younger man says something and Villanelle looks at him. She leans forward, brow suddenly slightly furrowed as she talks, her voice sharp but too quiet for Eve to hear what she’s saying over the noise of the restaurant floor. Eve swallows as she sees Villanelle slip into business mode. She drags something from in front of the man, and it’s then that Eve notices a Manila folder open on the table. Villanelle points at something in the file then gestures with her hand while speaking, the younger man looking a little embarrassed while the older man hides a smirk behind his hand.

Seeing Villanelle work from afar, seeing her get all bossy and strict with this guy, has Eve feeling slightly short of breath. 

A second later Eve feels Daryl move past her back to the table, pulling her out of whatever lust filled moment she found herself slipping into. 

“Sorry Eve but I’m going to have to go.” He says, reaching down for his bag. “My son has decided to break his arm while playing football.”

“Oh my god,” Eve says, eyes wide, “is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” Daryl says with a tired laugh, “screaming up a storm but it’ll be okay. His twin sister broke hers three weeks ago at school and I think he couldn’t stand the idea of her having something he didn’t.”

“Jesus.” Eve mumbles. “Kids.”

“Exactly.” Daryl nods. Eve stands and reaches her hand out to shake Daryl’s. “It was lovely to meet you, Eve. I think I should like for you to use my story in your article. Get in touch when you can.”

“Fantastic,” Eve says with a smile, “thank you Daryl.”

“And thank you.” He hauls his bag further onto his shoulder. “Speak soon.”

Eve sits back down and sighs, pleased with how that went. She chances another look at Villanelle and sees the woman still heavily involved in discussion with the men. Eve sighs again, a little unhappily this time. Villanelle is right there, 12 feet away, and Eve can’t talk to her or sit with her or have her. It’s unfair. A cruel twist of fate.

Eve catches the eyes of the passing waitress and asks for the bill, paying quickly when the woman returns. She scoops up her bag and straightens her blouse, flashing one last look in Villanelle’s way to find the blonde still talking, then heads to the bathroom.

In the reflection of the mirror Eve fluffs her curls a little, winding a few coils around her finger and letting them bounce back. She gets her lipstick and dabs a little more of the plum red to her lips, pursing them to soften the colour. She really does look good, Eve realises, thinking back on Villanelle’s mouthed words. She straightens the blouse and pulls out invisible wrinkles. 

She’s close to actually taking a selfie to send to Villanelle at some point after the trial, and to send to Bill  _ now _ so he can show Kieko that Eve is in fact wearing the clothes they bought together, when the door behind her opens. 

“Villanelle.” Eve breathes as the blonde walks slowly to stand beside her. 

“Eve.” Villanelle murmurs softly, smiling wide. “It is so good to see you.”

“You too.” Eve almost laughs at the formality, but the sparkle in Villanelle’s eye stops her. It’s playful. 

“So, that was work?” Villanelle asks as she drags her eyes away from Eve and faces herself in the mirror, running a finger under the thick wing of her eyeliner as if there was makeup out of place. 

“Mm,” Eve hums, “potential interview for the addict rehabilitation piece I’m writing. What about you?”

“Drinks with the new hire.” Villanelle says while applying her own lipstick. “His name is Felix, he is fresh off the back of his PhD. Little baby.” Villanelle pouts, making Eve chuckle. “Konstantin and I like to take any new staff out at the end of their first week.”

“That’s Konstantin?” Eve asks, staring at Villanelle in the mirror. The blonde nods and caps her lipstick. “Cool.”

Villanelle sniggers at that, then turns and leans her back against the counter housing the sinks. 

“You look beautiful, Eve.”

Eve’s breath leaves her in a quick and surprised exhale. 

“You can talk,” she replies slightly breathless, “you look- wait, are those cats?”

Villanelle looks down and plucks at one of the little beaded cats on her velvet jacket. 

“Yes?”

“Okay.” Eve nods. “Okay.”

Villanelle slides closer, smirking when Eve stands a little straighter, body still facing the mirror but head turned to watch the blonde. 

“You were saying?” She almost purrs, fittingly. “I look…”

“Gorgeous.” Eve replies immediately. “Stunning. Ravishing.”

“Ravishing, huh?” Villanelle is smiling and doesn’t stop moving until her side is pressed to Eve’s. “Careful Eve, keep talking like that and I might just drag you into a cubicle. Show you how ravishing I can be.”

It’s a joke. 

Villanelle’s eyes twinkle with it, the mirth there dancing because obviously they can’t actually do that, they can’t allow themselves to drag each other anywhere in this public place. That would be completely unprofessional and risky, and not to mention unhygienic.

The twinkle in Villanelle’s eyes disappears when it’s Eve that does the dragging. 

In a second flat they’re in the far cubicle, Eve locking the door behind them before letting her back hit the wall, pulling Villanelle to her. 

“Oh, I forgot.” Villanelle murmurs with a smirk, out of breath as their noses bump gently. “ _ Public places _ .” 

Eve kisses her. 

There’s no preamble this time. No pause for tenderness or calm. Eve realises they haven’t kissed since the day they had sex, they haven’t kissed since the day they  _ first _ kissed, and it makes her hungry. Hungrier. 

It’s passion and heat behind the firm plush of their lips. They press and tilt and meet and meet and meet, and then Villanelle is prying Eve’s mouth open and slipping her tongue inside and Eve moans, heady and breathless, her hips starting to buck. 

Eve’s fists ball tighter into the soft velvet of Villanelle’s jacket, and the blonde pulls her mouth away a fraction. 

“Do not crumple that,” Villanelle murmurs, low, her own hands twisting themselves into Eve’s hair, “it was expensive.”

The commanding voice, the care for her extortionate, trendy clothes. Eve’s pulse quickens. 

“God, yes, keep talking like that.”

There’s a scoff of surprised laughter against her lips before they’re kissed again once, twice. 

“I am missing a very important introductory meeting.”

Eve groans. 

“Uh huh,” she sighs, “how important?”

“As important as everything else I do,” Villanelle says silkily, “because I am a very important person.”

“Fuck, yes you are.”

Villanelle chuckles again but it’s airy, tight, and Eve recognises the telltale signs of Villanelle’s growing arousal clinging to her voice. 

“Villanelle,” Eve mumbles against whiskey fresh lips, “touch me-” but Villanelle’s hand is already on its way down, roughly tugging Eve’s blouse from the waist of her trousers before Eve has even finished speaking. 

No hesitation precedes Villanelle’s fingers sliding beneath the fabric of Eve’s underwear and straight into her folds. 

“Oh, god,” Eve whines, head hitting the wall behind her noisily. 

Of course, the moment Villanelle’s fingertips settle on her clit, the bathroom door swings open. 

Two voices fill the echoey room. 

“-and he was like ‘you’re not going out looking like that’.”

“Ew, Dan is such a pig.”

“I know.”

The gentle movement of Villanelle’s fingers brings Eve right back into the moment. Her mouth opens around a gasp but Villanelle’s hand is there, cupping, catching the sound. 

“Keep quiet,” Villanelle whispers, “and keep still.”

Eve whimpers almost silently into her palm, and nods. 

Villanelle’s fingers slide with ease. Eve is already so wet, has been since Villanelle’s little cleavage display back in the restaurant, and she’s only getting wetter as one hand presses over her mouth and the other presses into her cunt. She bites hard into her lip to stop the groan from breaking the quiet. Villanelle smirks.

“Good,” Villanelle’s voice is barely audible, “if you make any noise, I will stop, okay?”

Eve nods carefully. Villanelle smirks again, then presses her lips close to Eve’s ear while her fingers drag out of Eve to circle her clit wetly.

“Eve, you feel so good.” Villanelle breathes, and Eve’s eyelids flutter at the words and warmth. “I wish I could taste you.”

Staying quiet feels like the most impossible task in this moment. Her lungs burn with the effort to keep in whimpers.

“Oh,” Villanelle pulls back, smirk still settled across her lips. Suddenly the fingers and their delicious pressure are gone and Eve has to grit her teeth to stop her sound of disappointment, but seconds later it’s a sound of pleasure she has to fight as Villanelle brings her shining fingertips to her mouth. 

Her tongue darts out to swipe at them, and Villanelle’s eyes slide shut. She’s silent, seemingly lost to the taste for a second, but when her eyes open again they’re darker than before, focused and direct and-

The fingers are back and so is the pressure, strong and heavy around her clit, enough for Eve’s head to bang back against the wall again. Villanelle freezes. 

Eve wonders if the pleading is clear in her eyes, but it must be because Villanelle starts again, fingers slipping lower and inside and twisting, sending shivers of heat racing through Eve as she gasps into Villanelle’s hand still over her mouth.

Swollen lips are at her neck and teeth nip the skin there, leaving a trail of stinging bites and marks that Eve will touch later, she’ll press them until the sting is back so she can remember exactly just how fucking good this feels, being fucked in a cubicle by a woman wearing a jacket that costs more than she makes in a month, covered in cat faces, for fuck’s sake. 

The fingers pump and drag and Eve feels every movement like it’s being tattooed onto her skin, heightened maybe by the rush of the public space or the hand over her mouth or the commanding tone to Villanelle’s voice when she whispers “quiet, Eve, you can do better than that.”

And it’s the voice, it’s definitely the voice and the sharp pinch to her clit that has her eyes shutting as she groans, muffled by Villanelle’s palm but still undeniable in the echoing room. 

“Hello? Are you alright in there?”

The girls by the sinks, have stopped chatting, and Villanelle stares at Eve with wide, reprimanding eyes. 

“Yes,” she calls back without looking away from Eve, “my friend is not feeling so good, too much to drink.”

“Aw, been there babe,” one of them says, “do you need me to get some water?”

“No, thank you though,” Villanelle says sweetly, but the look is still there, “she will be alright. She just should have listened to me, you know?”

As quickly as they stopped, Villanelle’s fingers start again. 

It’s immediate and fast and firm, bordering on aggressive if not for the quirk of Villanelle’s eyebrow and the slow smirk, and Eve feels herself get impossibly wetter, dripping, make Villanelle’s fingers even more slick as they swipe and dip and push and circle and-

“Oh I know, this one never listens to me when I tell her she’s had enough.”

“What! Says you, remember Kate’s house party last summer-”

Eve tunes them out, hardly listening in the first place but now letting their chirping settle into background static as Villanelle fucks her, hard but somehow without shaking Eve against the wall with the force of her thrusts. The teeth on her neck are back, nipping over freshly sore spots made only minutes ago by Villanelle’s wicked mouth. 

Eve swallows a moan. She doesn’t know how she’s lasted this long but the seas start to rise and Eve can feel the wave coming towards her, big and heavy and powerful. She nudges Villanelle’s hand, the one over her mouth, and the tongue against her pulse disappears. Hazel eyes connect with hers. 

And Villanelle gets it, because the fingers work faster still and it almost hurts, almost, except it doesn’t because it feels so, so good and rough and primal and then Villanelle’s forehead is on hers and-

White and blinding it hits her, and the hand over her mouth presses tighter, thank god, because Eve can’t hold back the whine that leaves her. Her legs shake as she comes against Villanelle’s fingers, and her eyes close at the desperate yet near-silent whimper that Villanelle can’t seem to control. 

Moments pass and as Eve’s heart rate steadies, she notices the silence. 

“They left.” Villanelle murmurs, removing her hand from Eve’s mouth. Eve breathes in deep, then sighs. 

“Fuck.” She says simply. 

Villanelle laughs. 

“Uh huh.” Villanelle kisses her sweetly. “That was hot, Eve.”

“You’re telling me.” Eve chuckles breathlessly. “Jesus.”

Villanelle’s grin is bright and happy, and the blonde glows in the dimly lit cubicle. Eve’s heart skips warmly. 

“I miss you.” Eve murmurs. 

Villanelle sighs. The hand previously covering her mouth now gently cups her jaw, fingertips lightly tracing soft skin. 

“I miss you too.”

“I hate this.” Eve tells her honestly. She leans into Villanelle’s hand. 

“Mm,” Villanelle hums sadly, “it is no walk of cake.”

Eve bites her lip. 

“Cake walk.” She says fondly. 

“What?”

“Nevermind. Remind me how many weeks until this is over?”

“Two more.”

Eve groans and drops her head down, forehead resting on the soft and plush material of Villanelle’s jacket. 

“Jesus.”

“Mm,” Villanelle hums before pressing a kiss to Eve’s head, “but we have done very well, I think, at controlling ourselves.”

Eve looks back up at Villanelle with an amused frown. 

“You just fucked me in a public toilet stall.”

“Well, yes,” Villanelle tilts her head side to side, considering, “but this does not count.”

Eve scoffs. 

“Why not?”

“Because I said so,” Villanelle says like it’s obvious, “and I am a lawyer. You want to argue with me?”

“As hot as that honestly does sound,” Eve admits, “not right now.”

Villanelle smirks, latching again onto Eve’s blatant power kink. 

“Another time then?”

“Oh yeah, definitely.” Eve smiles, reaching up to brush some blonde hair back that has fallen from Villanelle’s braided updo. 

“What should we argue about?” Villanelle asks.

“Something mundane.” Eve says, pulling Villanelle a little, a gentle tug until the woman is leaning against her. “The dishes?”

“The dishes,” Villanelle says softly, “I like that. I have never had that sort of argument before.”

“Well, then I can’t wait to be your first.” Eve smiles. 

Villanelle kisses her then, slow and sweet, a scattering of gentle pecks that linger on Eve’s lips and in her chest. 

When she pulls away, Eve pushes herself slightly off the wall. 

“You should probably get back out there. They’ll be wondering where you are.”

“Eh,” Villanelle shrugs, “I will just tell them I am on my period.”

“Oh,” Eve laughs a little, “that works, does it?”

“It always does.” Villanelle says plainly. Her confidence is palpable and Eve feels it settle as a blush on her own cheeks. 

“You are just unashamedly yourself, aren’t you.” She tells the blonde, reaching up to cup her cheek. 

“Who else would I be.” Villanelle says simply, and Eve chuckles. 

“No one, thank god. I want you just the way you are.”

Villanelle bites her lip. 

“Oof,  _ you _ ,” she mumbles, running her fingers through Eve’s hair, down to her neck, “do you want to go again?” 

“Oh my god,” Eve chuckles, pressing a hand lightly to Villanelle’s chest and pushing, “go back to your meeting.”

“Fine, fine.” Villanelle grins. She presses one last kiss to Eve’s lips before stepping back completely and straightening her jacket. She fixes Eve with a look when she’s done. “Two weeks,” she says softly. 

Eve nods. 

“Two weeks.”

And then Villanelle is gone. 

Eve listens to her wash her hands and hum merrily as she goes before silence settles again. And Eve, well. 

Eve squeals. 

Just once, loud and high-pitched, but c’mon… she’s just had sex in a restaurant bathroom with a super attractive woman who she super likes and it’s all just very  _ super _ .

She stands there for a while, shoulders pressed into the cubicle wall, feeling a gorgeous mix of giddy and content. Eve hasn’t felt this good in such a long time. Maybe ever? Has she ever felt this good, truly? This happy? This attached?

Oh.

Eve realises it then.

She’s in love.

Eve closes her eyes.

Wow. How… simple. She’s not afraid, not freaking out, not overwhelmed. She’s just… in love. 

Is that bad?

She considers the facts.

It’s been… nine weeks. Jesus Christ, nine weeks? That’s  _ it _ ? It feels like months and months have passed, surely Eve has aged at least a year since she first walked into Villanelle’s office? But no, nine weeks is right. Nine weeks.

Eve has managed to meet someone, and fall in love with said someone, in nine weeks.

And Eve… still isn’t freaking out.

Maybe it’s to do with her age, or her experience. Eve just… can’t be bothered to freak out. She has lived long enough and been married long enough to know that no, this isn’t bad. There’s no point wasting time denying something so… obvious; she’s wasted enough time already, these last ten or so years, so why waste any more.

Eve realises the usual rules don’t apply here, the expectations applied by society, the made up timings. None of it matters. Eve doesn’t have time for it to matter, doesn’t have the patience; she’s ready to actually let herself enjoy her life and whatever it wants to throw at her.

Eve loves that it’s thrown her Villanelle. Eve loves Villanelle.

And that’s that. Simple. Fine. Good.  _ Amazing _ .

Eve is in love with Villanelle.

She grins and rolls, presses her forehead to the wall, giddy and happy and in love.

And then she realises her forehead is pressed about a toilet cubicle wall.

“Oh god, gross.”

——

Eve spends two days on cloud nine. 

There’s no other way to describe it. She’s not walking on just air, she’s walking on a fucking foam mattress of bliss or something. Marshmallows. Bath bubbles. Sponge cake. A big… elastic band. 

Bouncy stuff. 

She’s not even that concerned when she has to go back to the house to collect a few bits.

Eve and Villanelle haven’t spoken since the bathroom but it’s okay, Eve has enough leftover excitement to get her by until they can see each other again.

The house comes into view as Eve walks and she immediately notes that the lamp is on in the living room, judging by the amber glow through the window. She steels herself for a moment, takes a breath, and tells herself that she won’t let his bullshit ruin her mood.

And hey, maybe if Eve stays out of Niko’s way he’ll leave her alone. Who knows. Eve is feeling pretty optimistic.

She’s greeted by the warm smell of paprika when she walks through the door. He’s cooking. She’d messaged Niko a few hours ago to let him know she’d be stopping by around this time so she doesn’t call out. He’ll know it's her.

Walking through to the living room she sees the boxes from before, neatly pushed against the walls and containing more of her things. She looks to the left and Niko is there in the kitchen, ignoring her.

“Hey,” she says, “you don’t need to pack my stuff, I can do it.”

Niko grunts.

“I want to redecorate.” He says without looking up. “Thought I’d get a head start.”

And Eve will not argue, she will not tell him not to touch her stuff, will not remind him that half of the house is hers, will not let him get under her skin while she’s feeling this good.

“Okay,” she says with a somewhat forced smile, “well, I have an hour to kill so… I’m gonna gather a few more things of mine. Got any more boxes?”

——

With cardboard boxes at her feet and a hammer in her hand, Eve pulls nails from the walls of her study and fills those boxes with her framed articles and achievements. She’s neat about it, careful, and soon she has four boxes full of her things tucked carefully under the desk for whenever she moves out. 

The walls look weird, with squares dotted across it much darker than the rest of the painted surfaces bleached by the sun. She turns in a slow circle and says a silent thank you to the room that had become her escape.

“Your escape.”

Eve jumps at Niko’s deep voice behind her.

“Jesus,” she says, clutching her chest as she turns to him, “Niko.”

He doesn’t look bothered, of course, looking around the small room instead.

“You know, I never thought it was possible to hate a room.”

Eve frowns, an uncomfortable feeling crawling up the back of her neck.

“What?”

“This room,” Niko shakes his head, still staring at the walls, “I swear, you loved it more than you ever loved me.”

“Niko-” Eve starts, but then he’s looking at her. She stops.

“Don’t lie,” he says, “you know it’s true. Work was always your greatest love, and that’s what you did in here. You never cared much for me. I could feel your disdain for me literally leak from under this door.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” Eve says, trying to keep her voice calm. He’s saying these things on purpose, making it seem like he’s the victim, the neglected husband. “You know that isn’t true. I loved you. I cared about you more than I can say, you just wouldn’t-” 

“Bullshit,” he bites, “you stopped caring once you started getting promoted at work, that was the end of us. Everyday I’d hope you’d look at me, pay me the attention you’d pay your stories-”

“Oh Jesus, Niko,” Eve rubs her eyes hard, “are we doing this now? Really? We’ve probably got a script for it around here somewhere, the amount of times we’ve had this exact same discussion.”

“Because it’s been happening for years,” Niko tells her coldly, “years and years of you only thinking of yourself, never thinking of me. You just hid in this room, you hid from me.”

“I didn’t hide from you.” Eve says, but she did. She did hide from him in here, when she had to get away from his sour moods and snide remarks. “I just- I needed-”

“You can’t even come up with an excuse,” Niko smiles, proud, “even now, you’re still grappling for some reasoning that’ll save yourself. It’s too late, sweetheart, it’s over.”

Eve has… no idea what is happening right now. It feels like they’ve gone back in time, back to a year ago, two years, three years. Niko is clearly having a ball though, smug and tall while Eve shrinks. His words are sharp and untrue, they’re not true, not true not true not true-

“What-”

“You know, I thought that maybe the divorce proceedings would help you wake up. I thought they would help you realise what you’ve done to me over the last decade, how you treated me, but I was wrong. I had hope for you, Eve, as always, but you’ve proven me wrong again.”

“I’m-” Eve starts, floundering, “what is this, why are you doing this? You know I tried, I tried so hard, you were  _ there _ . Why do you still say I didn’t- I, I tried for years, I did everything I thought you wanted but you- you always-”

“You’re delusional,” Niko says, with the audacity to smile, “you didn’t try, you never tried-”

This is insanity.

“I  _ did- _ ”

The definition of insanity.

“-and I honestly feel sorry for anyone in your future. I feel downright sorry for anyone that will have to deal with what I’ve had to deal with.”

Eve feels cold, and hot, and both and neither. Niko seems taller than she remembers, he looms in the doorway and fills up the space, his words beginning to pool at her feet like dark puddles.

“Why are you being-”

“I’m helping you,” Niko says, “truly, Eve, I’m helping. Take my advice, and don’t bother. Don’t bother looking for someone else, you’ll only ruin them like you did me, and I know deep down you don’t want to do that again. You don’t really want to break someone else.”

Her mouth opens but nothing comes out as his words drip to the floor. The water level rises, stinging at her ankles.

“You’re being cruel.” She manages, voice shaking. “You’re… you’re wrong.”

“Am I?” He laughs. “How’s that? You can literally see the change in me from when we first met, can’t you? You think I did this to myself? No, sweetheart, this is you. This is all you. You find someone and you make them love you, then you use it all up. You take it and feel good about it and give nothing back.”

“I tried to give-”

“If someone really does find you after all of this, if they love you, then god help them.” He shakes his head. “I bloody hope they fare better than I have. You don’t deserve it.”

The water is at her chin, in her mouth, burning.

“Don’t deserve-”

“You don’t deserve the attention.” He shrugs his shoulders, then takes a step back. “I’m starting to move on because I see that now. I see that no matter what I did, it would never be enough for you. No amount of my love would be enough for you, and I hope that poor future soul sees that before they try to give you any kind of love. You’ll suck them dry.”

One final look, one final calm, cool, bordering on cheerful look, and Niko walks away. She hears him go downstairs, slip his shoes on, and leave.

And Eve- Eve takes another picture off the wall with shaking hands. Places it in a nearly full box. Folds the lid, tapes it. Reaches for another picture and- and-

Eve sits on the floor. 

Undeserving.

Drowning.

——

The elevator ride hardly bothers her.

It’s blindingly sunny outside.

She wishes it would rain. It usually rains, in the movies, when the lead is unhappy. Lost. Empty.

Her eyes are sore. She must’ve cried before, at the house. Maybe into the rug on the office floor. She rubs at them hard until lights twinkle behind her lids, rubs until the LED screen announces the 25th floor and the doors slide open.

“Oh, hi Eve, you’re not down for an...”

Eve watches Hugo trail off, smile slipping as he takes her in.

“Hey… are you alright?”

Eve doesn't… she doesn’t have time.

“Is she here?”

“Yeah, but-”

Eve doesn’t let him finish. She half runs to the door to Villanelle’s office and pushes it open and- there’s someone in there with her. A man with blonde hair, middle aged, normal looking. He quickly glances over his shoulder in surprise at her but Villanelle, Villanelle is already staring back, alarmed expression growing. She starts to rise from her seat.

“Eve-”

“You’re with someone. I’m sorry.” Eve at least still has the sense to apologise.

She turns, forgets to close the door, marches back into the lobby area. She looks at Hugo, his worried face, and he starts to stand too, starts to approach her. She backs away and rushes to the elevator and pushes the button over and over and over and where is the fucking lift? It was just here, two seconds ago, where is it?

“Eve.”

A female voice, Villanelle’s, soft and careful. Eve turns again.

“I-” she starts, and it seems like all Eve has done today is start, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Hugo, go see to Dr Turner.” Villanelle says without looking. Eve watches him scramble into her office before settling back on Villanelle. 

“I don’t know why I’m here.” Eve manages.

“That is okay,” Villanelle says, beautiful Villanelle, smart Villanelle, “let’s go talk, hm?”

Her arm is gently taken and she’s being guided into the conference room, the conference room where Niko has sat twice, facing Eve, staring her down as she pushes him through a divorce-

“I went to the house. Niko was there.” Eve says quietly, fractured, when Villanelle closes the door behind them. “He found me in my office. Started saying these things.”

“What things?”

“Horrible… really- he- he said I don’t deserve…” She’s not making any sense and she knows that, but Villanelle is patient and kind and waits for Eve and Jesus Christ, she can’t do it to someone else, she just can’t. “He said I don’t deserve love. He pities anyone who might try. Says I’ll ruin them like I ruined him.”

Villanelle is still until she isn’t.

Her fists curl and she shouts something, something fast and curved in Russian. 

“That is not true, Eve, okay?” Villanelle insists, rushing the few steps over to Eve and clasping both of her hands. She feels warm. “He is wrong, you are worthy of all of those things and more.”

“He would have said that too at the beginning.” Eve whispers, because her voice has gone somewhere, it’s left, it’s given up too, “he used to tell me I was his world, and now I’m… I suck the souls of-”

“He is emotionally abusive, Eve,” Villanelle stresses, her face so close, so anguished, “you know this, you do.”

“But Villanelle what if he’s right.”

“He’s not-”

“You’re so young,” Eve murmurs, taking a hand back and tracing it along Villanelle’s face. “You’re… you’re so special, Oksana.” Villanelle, Oksana, makes the softest, saddest noise. Eve swallows. “You’re smart and beautiful and you have-”

“Don’t,” Villanelle shakes her head, “don’t tell me what I have and do not have.”

“I don't want to ruin you too.”

Villanelle grips the hand at her cheek and kisses the knuckles, staring at Eve imploringly, back straight and confident.

“You could never.” Villanelle says firmly. “You do deserve good things, you do, and you deserve love. I...”

No, no no no, please.

“I love you, Eve.” Villanelle says softly.

Another one.

What if Eve takes, takes, takes, uses up all of Villanelle’s love and spark and leaves her a shell?

She can’t. Not to Villanelle, not to her, she can’t, she  _ can’t _ .

“You don’t even know what that is.” Eve says.

Villanelle pauses, huffs a laugh, confused.

“I… I know I have not felt it before, but I  _ know _ what this is, this feeling.”

“You shouldn’t-”

“Stop telling me what I should and should not!” Villanelle snaps, sounding desperate. “I decide for myself.”

“Then I’m promising you,” Eve says, and when did her voice return, scratchy and low and mean? “that you’re wrong. You wouldn’t know. You  _ don’t _ know. You’re not in love with me.”

“I am,” Villanelle insists, eyes wide and shiny, “I am in love with you, Eve.”

“You shouldn’t be, Villanelle,” Eve says, voice loud, voice trembling, “I’m not worth it.”

“Don’t let him get into your head.” Villanelle begs, trying to kiss Eve’s hands again but Eve tugs them away. It doesn’t stop her. “Don’t let him make you think these things.”

“But he’s-” Eve shakes her head and steps away, hands cupping her own elbows as she tries to make herself smaller, “I’m not good for you, Villanelle. If he’s right… if he’s right then I’m going to destroy you, and you’re so… you’re so…” Eve trails off and sees tears on Villanelle’s angry cheeks. “You deserve someone young and gorgeous and interesting. I’m… used.”

“Eve-”

“I’m used, and I’ve used. Used Niko up and now he’s nothing. I’ll use you up too, I’ll chew you up and spit you out, it’s what I do, Niko says, he always says, it’s what I-”

“It isn’t,” Villanelle’s voice is wet, “I can tell, I can tell you are good and kind, you would never do that to me. You didn’t do it to Niko. He is awful, he is a liar and he is a bully and you are perfect, Eve, please.”

“You can do better.”

“Do not tell me what I can and can’t do!” Villanelle shouts, but Eve doesn’t flinch. This is for the best.

“I can’t ruin you too.”

Eve watches as Villanelle hastily scrubs at her cheeks. She’s doing it, even now; ruining it.

“You have a client through there and I’ve got you in tears.” Eve says, “I’ve made you risk your job, your education, your lifestyle-”

“You are worth it.”

It hurts Eve as much as it warms her. She shrinks further away from Villanelle.

“I am the exact opposite.” Eve murmurs. 

She doesn’t look at Villanelle as she walks out of the room.

The elevator ride is worse than ever before on the way back down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t even get me started on Kate’s house party, honestly.
> 
> Major thanks to VaultDweller for helping me with the journalism stuff in this chapter!!! And to Yotoob for being reassuring at me


	24. Spaghetti hoops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey pals. I asked black KE fans on twitter if posting tonight would be okay or not, and many replied saying it would be nice to read, so here it is.  
> Allies, we must remember that just saying we’re in support of the BLM movement is not enough. We must make our voices heard, we must learn and educate ourselves and others, we must accept our past mistakes and we must work hard to amend. We must stand up for those who need standing up for. We must not let this fade away after a week; it is not a trend. We need to sign and donate and protest and spread the word and grow, every single day. We must use our privilege for good and work to help make change happen. Black lives matter.
> 
> I hope you like the chapter.
> 
> TW: this chapter contains discussion about the emotionally abusive language from the last chapter.

Love is shit. 

It hurts. 

It carves out a hole for itself in your chest and then leaves you gaping.

It trains your body and your brain into needing it and then leaves you lost. 

It promises you sky and sea and gold and then leaves you nothing. 

It feels so good when you have it and so terrible when you do not. 

It took Villanelle half an hour to pull herself together after Eve left. Half an hour. 

Hugo came back out and found her slumped in a chair in the conference room. She watched him through the door’s window and her own stupid tears as he darted about, gathering folders and a coffee and Norah, another lawyer at their firm, before taking them all into Villanelle’s office. She watched him leave two minutes later and close the door behind him before heading straight for her. 

She let him clean her up, gently pressing tissues to her face and smoothing down her hair as he whispered things about the 90 day fiancé show he loves so much until eventually, eventually, she smiled again. 

That show really does sound terrible. 

After she finished crying, at  _ work _ , shit, she went back into the office, thanked Norah, and took over. Dr Turner seemed surprised and confused and Villanelle explained that a client of hers had received some bad news relating to a case that urgently needed taking care of. He understood, nodded, and told Villanelle that he and Norah had had a lovely chat about something Villanelle did not pay attention to. 

After work, she let Hugo take her home. 

She let him order them pizza, she let him put on that damn show, she even let him crack open the good gin. 

She realised later, after he’d passed out next to her in her king size bed, after an hour of him gossiping about other people at work and braiding her hair very poorly despite her clear instructions, that she loves him. Not in the romantic way, obviously, but she does love him. He is her best friend, her annoying and unprofessional best friend, and she recognises that she loves him for all that he is. 

She knows what love is. 

And she knows how the love she has for Hugo is different to the love she has for Eve. 

For Eve it is… like someone is pushing on her chest, but it presses warmth against her heart rather than discomfort. It chokes her, but it feels good. It makes her feel giddy, full of something vibrant, something that wants to get out and paint the air in reds and purples and golds. 

It is poetic, which she is not used to.

She does not enjoy poetry, does not like the way the words mean something else rather than the words that they are. Even explaining the dislike is difficult. If you want to say something just say it in the words that were made for saying it, do not start talking about autumn breezes and that kind of bullshit. 

But this feeling  _ is _ poetic, and the only words Villanelle can find to describe it don’t seem to make sense together unless you think them while feeling. 

She has a headache. 

Love is a headache. 

Except for when it is not. 

It is not a headache when Eve laughs at something she says, or when Eve smiles at her from the other side of the couch, or when Eve scrunches her brow up when she’s concentrating, or when Eve strokes the skin just below Villanelle’s ear with the pad of her thumb, or when Eve, when Eve, when Eve.

When Eve is with her it is not a headache. 

When Eve is  _ gone _ it is a headache. 

When Eve is gone it is shit.  _ Bad _ slam poetry. An essay on forgotten birthdays. A recipe book with the methods missing and a deadline for the perfect lemon tart. 

Ugh, these thoughts. Her headache is getting worse. 

For the first time in her life, she is relieved that it is Saturday. Villanelle loves to work, so she has never craved the weekend like others do. She enjoys them, of course, but relief is never a word she has associated with the arrival of one before. 

Until now. Until the need to stay in bed all day arises. 

Hugo left hours ago, leaving her with fresh coffee and a pat to the head and a kiss to the cheek, and she’s only moved to use the bathroom and bring a punnet of strawberries back to bed. 

She has eaten the fruit slowly throughout the day, trying to enjoy the fresh and sweet flavour, but she may as well be eating plain bread for all she notices of the taste. It is when she realises she’s been watching reruns of some shitty home refurbishment show for three hours straight that she decides something needs to be done. 

Moping was okay for a while, but now it is over. Villanelle does not mope. 

Villanelle is a lawyer. She deals with problems. She fixes things. 

She will fix this. Somehow. 

Eve’s words had hurt her somewhere she did not realise she could hurt. Dismissing her feelings like that, the icy tone to her wavering voice as she told Villanelle  _ you don’t even know what that is _ and  _ you’re not in love with me _ , pierced something in her, cold and sharp. 

But it is forgiven,  _ of course _ it is. Eve was not herself. She had been to see  _ him _ .  _ He _ who has pressed Eve into a shape that she is not for the last decade

Villanelle refuses to give him a name anymore, outside of the case. He does not deserve it. For someone to crush Eve into what she had been yesterday, they must be made of terrible things. Salted earth and darkness. 

Eve was smaller than Villanelle had ever seen her, folded in on herself like she was attempting to take up less space. Her eyes had been nervous and dark, and then lost when Villanelle had told her she loved her. It was clear that  _ he _ had done it again, had used words like knives to reduce her to this different woman, a different Eve, as he had probably done time and time before. 

It was a shock to see Eve, who had grown to be so confident, so clearly  _ herself _ for the first time in years, act in such a way. Harsh, cold, desperate. Lonely. 

_ He _ did that.

And so, Villanelle will do everything she can to undo it. 

——

It’s late afternoon by the time Villanelle reaches Harrods, but it is still busy. Saturday is prime shopping time and the building is packed, but a sales assistant makes their way over to her very quickly. They always do; it is the clothes. 

Villanelle is dressed in her version of casual. A highly ruffled magenta pink shirt tucked into tailored black trousers and finished with satin heels in the same shade as her shirt. She knows some people would call it complicated or over the top, but really it is just a shirt, trousers and shoes so what is the big deal? It is fine.

She turns down the eager assistant with a smile then heads upstairs to the women’s bags. 

In an instant she is drawn to a large Saint Lauren bag made of black leather, with simple silver chain shoulder straps and a beautiful padded effect across the leather. It is £1,600 but that is not so bad? Maybe if she gives it as an early birthday present Eve would not mind so much.

Villanelle looks at the other bags and ends up with a collection of dark leather accessories in her arms and more carried by a different assistant behind her. It is only when she settles on a slightly larger brown leather bag for a mere thousand pounds that Villanelle realises what she is doing. 

There has been a lot of realising, lately. 

Trying to convince Eve is worthy of love by buying her an expensive bag? Villanelle chastises herself mentally. This will not work. Things like this are not what Eve wants, it is not her love language. 

Because yes, during Villanelle’s time researching love and girlfriends and other confusing things, she had come across the love language test and yes, she had tested herself only to be unsurprised when her language turned out to be ‘receiving gifts’. She had looked up the rest and made the decision that Eve’s is probably ‘words of affirmation’, judging by the blush on her cheeks every time Villanelle says something nice about her. Not to mention the way she reacts to  _ other _ words of encouragement from Villanelle. 

There is probably a tiny bit of ‘receiving gifts’ and ‘acts of service’ thrown in there too though, which is why Villanelle followed through with her coffee plan. For three weeks now Eve has received a hand delivered coffee every morning she’s in the office, courtesy of a little indie business not far from Eve’s workplace. The first time they’d seen each other after the coffees began, about two weeks ago now, Eve had thanked her and told her to stop repeatedly over the space of an hour, but Villanelle stood firm. And besides, she could tell Eve loved it. Love languages.

Villanelle turns to the assistant and announces she has changed her mind, much to the assistant’s barely contained dismay, but Villanelle does not have time to feel guilty. Not that she would anyway, because they are not paid on commission. They should be thankful for the past half hour of entertainment, she is very fun. 

She heads into the stairway and pulls out her phone.

A plan is forming.

Time to google for information.

Bill is, obviously, a very common name. Keiko, however…

She enters the name into google along with ‘London’.

Most of the results don’t exactly help her as Villanelle does not know anything about the woman, but halfway down the page is something about a Keiko Pargrave, the marketing director of an independent fashion house in west London. 

Keiko had dressed Eve, had dressed her very well. This could be her. 

The site has a number to reach her and it is clearly for work purposes, but it  _ is _ accessible to the public, so.

She dials the number. 

“Keiko Pargrave of Cassiopeia Fashion.”

“Hi,” Villanelle starts, confident business voice on, “is Bill there?”

In hindsight it was maybe not the best thing to start with. 

“I’m sorry?”

“Bill,” Villanelle repeats, “your husband.”

“I… who is calling, please?”

“A friend, can I speak to him?”

“Not until you tell me who you are. How did you get this number?”

Villanelle does not have time for this.

“Google, obviously.” Villanelle starts tapping her foot. “Is he there? If not can you please get him to call me? My number is-”

“Who  _ is _ this?”

There’s a voice in the background, male, curious. Bill?

“Is that him? Can I speak to him? Please?”

“Miss, you better tell me who you are or I’m going to-”

“Villanelle, my name is Villanelle, okay? Now please-”

“Villanelle? Who-”

But Keiko is cut off by the man’s voice. Villanelle hears it faintly, then clearer as he gets closer to the phone. 

“-anelle? Pass it here, Keiko, pass it-”

“Who the hell, Bill?”

“It’s Eve’s lawyer, give it  _ here _ .” 

“Wait, the lawyer? The one she… y’know.”

Villanelle smirks. She wonders if Eve knows that Bill has told his wife about them.

“Yes now please will you-”

There’s the sound of the phone passing hands, an eager ‘let me listen!’ from Keiko, now in the background, and then a friendly voice, deep and soft.

“Hello Villanelle, you’ve reached Bill. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Bill,” she smiles a little, already liking his humoured tone, “I have heard a lot about you.”

“Likewise,” he chuckles, “maybe a little too much, actually.”

Villanelle rolls her eyes. 

“Yes, she told me about that,” she says, “did she tell you about the part when I put my tongue-”

“Oh good lord you’re as bad as she is,” he groans good naturedly over Keiko laughing in the background, “just… what is it you need, Villanelle, on this gorgeous Saturday afternoon.”

“I need to know Eve’s favourite wine.”

“God, how much time do you have.”

“I know, but there must be a favourite.”

“Well,” Bill says, “are we talking up to £10? Up to £20?” 

“What? I’m thinking up to £100.”

“£100?” Bill sputters, “are you bonkers?”

“No,” Villanelle frowns, slightly affronted, “I want to get her a good bottle.”

“Why?”

Hm. So Eve has not spoken to Bill then. That worries Villanelle. It seems like Bill is the only person Eve has, besides Villanelle, so if she’s not spoken to him then who has she spoken to? No one?

“Just want to get her a treat.”

“Well, her favourite is a red merlot that will cost you a whopping £13.50 from Tesco.”

“Ugh, no.”

“Ugh, yes.” He says. “You asked for her favourite, and that’s it. And yes, she has tried more expensive wines and champagnes etcetera, but that remains her favourite.”

“Jesus, okay.” She sighs. “Can you at least confirm that her favourite food is cassoulet?” There’s a snort on the other end of the phone. “What...”

“Yeah, that’s her favourite... when she’s trying to impress people.”

Villanelle stops tapping her foot. 

“What?”

“She loves cassoulet, don’t get me wrong,” he says hurriedly, “she’s not lying about that. But it’s not her  _ real _ favourite.”

“Well what is her real favourite then?”

“Oh she’s going to kill me.” He mumbles before speaking again. “Have you ever heard of spaghetti hoops?”

“The… the little spaghetti circles in sauce for children?”

“That’s the stuff.” Bill chuckles. “She likes that on toast, covered in grated cheese.”

Villanelle slaps a hand to her forehead. She is in love with an idiot. 

“Are you being serious?”

“Deadly.” Bill confirms.

“Right, well, okay. Thank you Bill, you have helped.”

“Why are you asking?” He prods gently. “What are you planning? I thought you two were… keeping things professional.”

“We are,” huffs Villanelle before she softens, “maybe… maybe give Eve a call after this? But please, do not tell her I spoke to you.”

“Why-”

“Just, please call her. Talk to her. Okay?” Silence for a moment. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Bill agrees, “I’ll call her. Is she alright?”

“I have to go but I am sure we will speak again, Bill.” Villanelle says, mind already on the next task. “Tell Keiko I am sorry. Oh and also tell her thank you from me.”

“For what?”

“For the clothes she put Eve in,” Villanelle says, “my god, what a snack.”

Bill laughs.

“Have you ever said that before?”

“No.” Villanelle admits with a grimace. “Okay. Bye Bill.”

She hangs up the phone before he can reply, and wonders if Harrods sells spaghetti hoops. 

——

Harrods does not sell spaghetti hoops.

——

At home later, prepping a stir fry, Villanelle thinks of Eve. 

Obviously. 

What else is there to think about on her day off?

It is late, far too late to be making food, but she was too excited by her own smart thinking when she got back that her energy was overflowing, so she channelled it into the spring onions currently frying in the wok, and she thinks of Eve. 

She misses her. 

She always misses her when she does not see her, which is new and weird but not that new and weird anymore. She is used to it now, this feeling of being without, but it is different today.

Today she misses Eve the normal amount, plus extra for the fact that Eve thinks they are done. 

Eve thinks they are finished, that Villanelle can ‘do better’, that Eve isn’t worth it. 

Villanelle will not let someone tell her what she can and can’t feel. Not even Eve. 

If Eve thinks she is not deserving of love? A love she accuses Villanelle to not even understand? Well, Villanelle will just have to prove her wrong. 

She will gather the evidence and present it with clear detail and sound conviction, and then she will finish with a spectacular closing argument, thank you your honour, the defence rests, case closed. 

Villanelle will show Eve that she wants her, wants this, wants  _ them _ , and that despite never feeling it before, she will show Eve that she loves her in the best way she knows how.

She just hopes that Eve will let her. 

——

It is Wednesday afternoon when Villanelle arrives at Bill’s house.

It is a nice place, a narrow red brick terraced house but long and tall, with a beautiful garden beyond wide glass doors. They obviously have money and Keiko clearly has good taste in design, and Villanelle is glad that Eve is staying in a place like this. 

She is immediately handed a baby upon entering. 

“Oh, no, I can’t-”

“You can.” Bill tells her casually, as if they’ve met countless times before. He’s wearing a pink apron and his face is red, but cheerful. “I’m in the middle of almost ruining a spaghetti bolognaise, please hold her.”

The baby in question is staring at the side of Villanelle’s face as she holds her on her hip.

“Look at that, you’re a natural.” Bill comments as they head inside. Villanelle follows him to the kitchen as he talks. “Held a lot of babies?”

“God, no,” she says, watching nervously as the baby reaches a pudgy hand slowly towards her hair, “my cousin is younger and I grew up with her. She was a baby when I was a teen, so.”

“Ah, familial practice.” Bill chuckles. “Well, that is good news for me. Keep hold of her while you do your thing, will you?”

Villanelle huffs and adjusts the hamper basket slung over her arm, juggling the baby as she does so. It giggles. 

“What is its name?” Villanelle asks, ducking a tiny fist. 

“Her name is Aubrey. She’s very friendly but she bloody loves hair, so be careful. Eve has to wear hers up around her, I honestly don’t know how she manages to get such tiny fingers so tangled in those curls.”

“They are easy to get lost in.” Villanelle nods sombrely, then she turns to the baby. “You like Eve’s hair too?”

The baby gurgles happily, then slaps Villanelle across the face. 

“Ow, Jesus.”

“Sorry,” Bill apologises, “she hasn’t quite mastered her own limbs yet.”

“How am I supposed to do the thing while holding this?”

“With difficulty.” Bill tells her with a smile. “Off you go.”

Villanelle only grumbles a little as she heads up the stairs to the room Bill describes, then places the basket down by the door. She holds Aubrey close. 

“Okay, small baby,” Villanelle whispers to the infant, “this is it. I am going to tell the woman I love that I love her, again, and that she is everything. Will you help- mrfm.”

Aubrey sticks her hand into Villanelle’s talking mouth and cackles when Villanelle drags it out again.

“Ugh, Aubrey, do not do that.” She whispers, annoyed. “You are harshing my flow, you know?”

“Da!” The baby yells happily. Villanelle raises one eyebrow. 

“You know Russian?”

Villanelle leans back as the baby’s hand flies at her mouth again.

“Aubrey?” It’s Eve. Her curious voice floating through the door. “Bill? You out there?”

Villanelle swallows and readjusts the baby.

“It’s me.”

Her voice cracks with nerves and Villanelle swallows again, trying to calm her racing heart. 

Eve says nothing. 

“Hello, Eve. I, um… I brought you some things.” Villanelle stares down at the basket by her feet. “You do not have to come out and get them if you do not want to?”

There is no sound, no movement. Villanelle waits a full minute before sighing. 

“I will tell you what it is.” She says, then she slides down to sit on the floor cross legged, Aubrey settling in her lap and playing with the laces of her boots. “Okay, so, I made you a hamper. It is a basket of things that you like, because… because you deserve things that you like.”

Villanelle pauses, but still nothing. She peers into the basket. 

“First, I got you a packet of Jaffa cakes, because you said the advert used to make you laugh, something about a lady eating one and saying ‘total eclipse’.” Villanelle starts. “Then a bottle of your favourite merlot, which only cost me £9 because Sainsbury’s had a deal on. One day I will teach you about better wine because honestly Eve this is not good.”

She is hoping for a chuckle, a huff, hell she’d take a shoe thrown at the head at this point, but still nothing. Villanelle rallies. 

“I made you a cassoulet,” she tells the door, “it took five hours but it tastes amazing. It is in a tub so you can freeze it if you want. Uh, what else… I got you a tin of spaghetti hoops because Bill said they are your favourite. Please do not be mad at him, he was very nice for helping me. Oh, I also got you a fresh loaf from the bakery and some good sharp cheddar for you to have with the… hoops.”

It’s still quiet. Villanelle strokes Aubrey’s hair. 

“There are a few other little bits, but I will let you see what they are yourself. I’m…” she trails off, unsure of herself, “I hope you like them.”

Villanelle’s ears prick up at the sound of a soft sigh. 

“Why are you here?” 

Eve’s voice sounds tired. Hopeless.  _ Different _ . 

“To bring you these things,” Villanelle tells the door, “and… and to say that I am here, if you want to talk about what happened.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Eve’s reply is quick, sharp. Villanelle swallows. 

“Okay, I just wanted to let you know that-”

“I think you should go.”

Villanelle frowns despite the tears welling in her eyes. 

“I do not want to go. Besides, I am looking after Aubrey.”

There’s a muttered mumble that sounds a little like cursing, then another sigh. 

“You’re wasting your time.” The tired tone is back. “Find someone else.”

“I do not want someone else.” Villanelle mumbles, pressing her cheek to the painted wood of the door. “I want you.”

“Then stop.” Eve bites. “Stop wanting me. There’s nothing to want, nothing to like. Do yourself a favour and pick someone else. You’re better off without me and I’m better off alone.”

“I do not care, I do not want someone else… I just want you, Eve.” She tries not to get upset. “And we both know you want me too. How can you say you are better off alone? Did our night together not mean anything?”

“It meant everything,” Eve’s voice breaks, “but it shouldn’t for you, you could get that over and over from literally anyone else. Don’t settle for me.”

“I am not settling, Eve!” Villanelle strains to keep her voice from rising. “I meant what I said last week! I love  _ you _ , your laugh and your eyes and the fact that you eat so much food for someone so tiny,”

“I’m 5 foot 6.”

“I love your obsession with vampires and your passion for your job and the way you touch my cheek and the way you pretend to know what you are doing when you make coffee.”

“I do know-”

“No, you don’t, but that is okay because I do, and I will make you coffee whenever you want it if you will  _ let  _ me.” Aubrey is getting agitated by Villanelle’s desperate tone so she hushes her gently and turns her to look at her. “Hey, little baby, it is okay, it’s fine.”

“Why do you have Aubrey?” 

“Because Bill is burning your dinner.” Villanelle huffs. “It doesn’t matter. I am just trying to tell you that I will spend every second making you realise everything that fuck-head of a husband said was  _ shit _ , if you will let me. I  _ want _ to. I know the real you, Eve, and you are so much more than he is. You are  _ so much _ .”

“But it’s only been nine weeks-”

“Please, stop with the ‘but’s.” Villanelle says weakly. “I do not care about timing. I am in love with you. I know that I have never felt this way before and I know that I am scared and nervous but it is okay. It hurts and it is incredible and frightening and so, so  _ good _ . I love it and I love you and,” Villanelle swallows thickly, “and I think you love me too, and I will not let  _ his _ abusive behaviour get in the way of that. I wont let it get in the way of you being happy.” 

Villanelle pauses for breath, feeling exposed and raw but steeling herself to continue. 

“I want to be there for you. I will do everything I can to help you see exactly who you really are. Who I know you are. Okay, Eve?”

Silence.

Villanelle stares down at Aubrey, who stares back up with wide, brown eyes. 

“Eeee.” The baby says seriously, slapping the door.

Villanelle nods. 

“Yes.” She says sadly. “Eve.”

She stands, hauling Aubrey up with her and holding her to her chest, cradling the infant gently as she stares holes through the wooden door. 

“I am going to go now.” She says softly, all fight gone. She tilts her head against Aubrey’s soft hair. “I would like it if you could look at the things I have brought you, but if you do not that is okay too. I will not quit, Eve, alright? But I will give you space, if that is what you want.”

There is the softest sniff through the door, and Villanelle’s heart breaks. 

“I am sorry I got upset. It just… pains me to see you like this when I know how special you are, beautiful and interesting and kind. It makes me want to do very illegal things to him. But I understand that it is trauma, and me trying to force things wont help. But… I will do anything I can to make things better for you. Anything you need me to do. I promise. I love you. I do.”

Villanelle does not wait by the door this time. She leaves Eve be, leaves her with her words and the hamper and her feelings offered up for Eve to take. 

Back downstairs, Bill gives her a concerned smile. 

“Any luck?”

Villanelle shrugs and stares at Aubrey, not even caring that the baby is now chewing on her shirt collar. 

“She does not want to talk to me.” Villanelle says. When she looks up at Bill he looks worried. “Do you think I could murder him and get away with it?”

He chuckles abruptly. 

“I don’t doubt that you could,” he says, “but I’d rather you didn't. Once Eve comes around she’ll want you at home, not in a cell.”

“I guess.” Villanelle mumbles. “If she comes around.”

“She will.” He says softly. He leans back against the kitchen counter and folds his arms. “She loves you, you know.”

Villanelle’s voice is breathless. “Did she tell you that?”

“She doesn’t need to,” Bill chuckles, “we’ve been friends for years, I can read her like a book. That Niko though…” he grimaces, a half sneer that looks out of place on his friendly face, “he’s a real twat. Always has been. Eve is a force to be reckoned with, but he has the ability to squash it all down. She just needs help showing that she can break free of it.”

“I’m trying.” Villanelle says in a near whisper. ”I am.”

“I know, darling,” he nods warmly, “and you will succeed. Just, keep doing what you do. Show her you want her for her, that she is worth the feelings you have. Day by day. She’ll come around.”

Villanelle nods, but it’s heavy. The oomph has gone from her chest and her body feels leaden. She had hoped for a reunion maybe, or at least to see Eve’s face to make sure she was okay. 

She clearly is not okay.

“I left the hamper upstairs.” She tells Bill. “If she does not take it in the next twenty minutes will you please put the cassoulet in the fridge?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.” Villanelle looks at Aubrey who blinks at her happily, smiling wide with ruddy red cheeks and drool on her chin. Villanelle turns to Bill again. “Can I keep this?”

“No.”

——

In a relaxed Neil Diamond t-shirt tucked loosely into jeans, Villanelle sits curled on her sofa, watching her court show.

It only pulls a few laughs from her.

She has not heard from Eve.

Someone is shrieking on her large TV, a woman being dragged from the courtroom, cursing the heavens and her husband as she goes, while the judge looks on in irritation. Villanelle barely hears or sees it, her eyes glazed over in thought, her mind elsewhere.

She will not give up on Eve.

If that means she has to be a friend and only a friend, to support her through what  _ he _ has done to her, then Villanelle will do that. She will do anything.

Love is weird like that, she is learning.

Villanelle wonders if Eve looked at what else was in the hamper. She wonders if she ate the cassoulet last night, or the spaghetti hoops, or if she ignored the hamper Villanelle left with her the day before completely. She hopes Eve looked.

Attempting to refocus on the show in front of her, Villanelle tries to push the thoughts out of her mind for now. She will see Eve again in just over a week because they need to go over everything before the hearing, so unless Eve decides she is no longer fighting to get the money owed to her (not happening, Villanelle would rather storm her door down than let Eve suffer through that loss), then she and Villanelle will be in the same room again soon.

Villanelle will make sure that that meeting will go as smoothly as possible, she will provide fresh coffee and doughnuts and have flowers on the desk and a shiny new notepad for Eve and it will be perfect. As perfect as a pre-trial meeting can be, anyway.

The show is not holding her attention.

She goes into the kitchen and pours a finger of gin into a crystal tumbler, downs it, then pours another few fingers while wincing.

Maybe the alcohol will help her sleep, at least. Last night she had laid away, staring at the wall, thinking of Eve until her eyes burned with an exhaustion she couldn’t escape.

On her way back to the sofa, sipping the fragrant spirit and thinking that it really is not so bad straight once you’ve already burned your esophagus away with the first shot, the front door shakes.

She stops and stares at it, the way it shudders as someone tries to open it. It is locked, of course, because Villanelle is not an idiot, but she grips the tumbler tighter in her hand, ready to smash it into someone’s head if need be.

She will not be taken out while trashy court TV plays in the background. She refuses.

She only has the chance to take one careful step towards the door when the sound of sliding metal reaches her. The lock clicks open.

A lock pick? This burglar means business.

The crash is loud when the door swings and bangs into the wall, and Villanelle gapes at her intruder.

“Eve…”

“Shoot,” Eve mumbles, checking the damage done by the door, “sorry about your wall.”

Villanelle is maybe in shock.

“You picked the lock? Why?”

“What? No, I have a key, remember.”

Eve holds up the silver metal in her hand.

“Oh,” she realises, “yeah.”

It is quiet, for a moment, and then-

“What the hell is this?” Eve shouts, holding up a bag. “Explain yourself.”

“It is a bag,” Villanelle starts to take a step back, “I bought-”

“How much did this fucking cost, Villanelle?” Eve fumes. “What are you playing at?”

“I didn’t-”

“What, you think you can just throw money at me? Is this your way of showing me that I’m worth it? Spending thousands and expecting me to just… just take that as evidence that you genuinely care? What is your  _ problem _ -” 

“It’s from a charity shop!” The words burst from Villanelle. Eve falls silent. 

Villanelle takes a breath. 

“It was seven pounds from a charity shop. I knew you would not like something expensive, so I spent three hours in charity shops trying to find a stylish one that you would like.”

The anger drops from Eve’s shoulders as the bag slumps to her side.

“Oh.”

Quiet falls again. Villanelle feels the glass of cold gin sweat in her hand. She swallows.

“What are you doing here-”

“I don’t know.” Eve snaps. The anger may be gone from her form but it is still in her voice, in her eyes. “I have no fucking idea.”

Villanelle nods.

“Okay. Would you like to sit down?”

“No.”

Villanelle nods again.

“Okay.”

So they stand there, Eve’s eyes downcast and Villanelle’s eyes on Eve, in total silence. 30 seconds pass, then a minute, and Villanelle grows more uncomfortable. She doesn’t know what to do in this situation. This has never happened to her before. Is she supposed to say something? Start the conversation?

Before she can decide, Eve speaks.

“I’m going to tell you again,” Eve begins, “to pick someone else.”

Villanelle’s heart falls at the words.

“I-”

“No,” Eve snaps, “no, I don’t… I don’t want to hear whatever it is you’re going to say. You probably think I’m being a total bitch, making this decision for us, but it’s the right one.”

Her chest feels hollow, empty, that gaping feeling from before back and filling her up with nothing at all. 

“Please-”

“I’ll take your spark and I’ll dull it,” Eve bites, vicious but wounded and losing steam, “I’ll bore you, I’ll neglect you, I’ll make you hate me, eventually. I… god, I can’t have you hate me, Vil, I just can’t.”

Words ache behind Villanelle’s teeth but she lets Eve talk.

“You don’t… understand what it’s like.” Eve says, strained now. “I know you probably think that Niko is full of shit and that everything he says is wrong, but… but you don’t...” Eve is wrestling with herself, Villanelle can see the turbulence in her eyes, the stress as her fingers wring together. “It’s complicated, and it’s  _ shameful _ , and I know he is terrible but… it’s been so long, I’ve heard this shit for so long… you hear this stuff said to you and you start to believe it, even when people tell you it’s not true, it’s still… it’s there in your head... I…”

Eve’s voice wavers, and Villanelle can’t hold back.

“Eve, please will you sit with me?”

“I can’t.” Eve’s voice is barely a whisper, cracked at the edges.

“Okay. That is okay. But, I just want to say that I do not claim to understand.” Villanelle says slowly. “What you went through must have been traumatic, but perhaps felt completely normal, and I am not going to pretend that I get it.”

It seems to startle Eve because the woman takes a step back clumsily, eyes darting away from Villanelle.

“I meant everything I said yesterday,” she continues, “and more. If you need me to just be your friend, I will be your friend. It will be hard but I will not care if that is what you need. I want to… support you, and love you, in any way you will let me.” She feels tears well up and tries to blink them away. “Please let me.”

Eve is shaking her head so Villanelle surges forward, crossing the room in large sweeping steps until she reaches Eve. She takes her hands.

“I am not above begging,” she says with a small, hopeful smile despite the pressure behind her eyes, “just, please don’t shut me out. Let me try to help.”

“You said you’re in love with me.” Eve says suddenly, her voice rough. Villanelle notices her cheeks are wet.

“And you said I don’t know what that is.”

Eve tenses.

“I shouldn’t have said that to you,” she murmurs, “it’s not my place to make those kinds of accusations. I just… don’t see how it could be true.”

“Then let me show you.”

Eve looks up at her now, and Villanelle cups her jaw with both hands, thumbs swiping at the tears streaked across olive skin.

“He ruined me.” Eve breathes. Villanelle shakes her head. 

“No, no he didn’t.” She says firmly. “Impossible. Parts of you have been put in shadow, but we can bring them back.”

“I can’t be fixed overnight.” Eve whispers, voice tight and watery.

“You do not need fixing, Eve.” Villanelle murmurs. 

Eve’s forehead presses against her own and Villanelle’s heart thumps heavily, the contact bittersweet. She keeps wiping gently at Eve’s cheeks while the woman’s hands ball in her t-shirt, looking for comfort.

“I do a little bit though.” Eve mumbles, and Villanelle’s stomach flutters at the almost teasing tone to her voice.

“Eve.” she scolds gently, playfully, carefully.

Eve sighs.

“I’m sorry about what I said.”

“Already forgotten,” Villanelle mumbles into the warm space between them, “I just want you to be okay.”

“God… you’re too good. I don’t deserve-”

“Eve,” Villanelle says, firmer this time, but maybe it just sounds sad, “I need you to try to not say things like that, okay? Please.”

“I’ll try.” Eve mumbles. “Villanelle, this is going to take time, you know? I can’t just… switch off what a decade has done.”

Villanelle nods against her forehead.

“I know.” She says. “And I will be here for all of it, if you will let me.”

Eve pulls back the tiniest amount to look at Villanelle. 

“Will you do something for me?”

“Anything.” Villanelle tells her. 

Eve manages a small smile.

“Kiss me, Oksana.”

So she does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Views on poetry are my own, have been my own since GCSE English fifteen years ago, don’t @ me
> 
> Thank you so so much to the reader who helped me with the serious parts of this chapter about emotional abuse. I appreciate all that you told me, and for reading through it to make sure it spoke true. You are amazing. Thank you again.


	25. Still married

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY LET’S TRY THIS AGAIN!!!
> 
> If you were here before, welcome back to a FULLY PROOFREAD CHAPTER. Jay the lawyer who I YELLED ABOUT IN CAPS in the middle of that last chapter has gone through all of this and straightened it out. Jesus Christ.
> 
> This has been a fun reminder that writing fics isn’t all easy peasy, it’s actually kind of hard work and I want to give you like a really well thought out story which means I’m actually doing research and consulting a real lawyer on parts of it. AS YOU MAY HAVE SEEN. 
> 
> Anyway, heck that was funny and embarrassing.
> 
> PLEASE. FORGET THE LAST VERSION AND ENJOY THIS ONE.

It’s been a difficult week. 

All of it.

And not being able to talk to Villanelle after what happened has been… hard. To put it lightly. 

After the shouting and the crying, Villanelle had made them hot chocolates and wrapped them in a huge blanket, and they’d huddled together on the couch. They didn’t talk of much, just this and that, Villanelle about her shopping trip and Eve about Aubrey. It’s clear Villanelle adores the baby even though she refuses to admit it, but Eve can tell. 

It was mostly them sitting quietly, gentle kisses pressed onto her hairline as she breathed in that scent that is purely Villanelle, powerful and heady and comforting. She let it soothe her, let it smooth down her worries and anxieties for the night, let it buff and polish the sharp edges of her heartache. Villanelle held her, and held her and held her and held her until Eve had fallen asleep. 

She awoke the next morning still on the couch with Villanelle curved around her body protectively, sleeping soundly, blonde hair a mess. She felt warmth in her chest for the first time in days. 

Fuck, what a painful week. Eve hadn’t realised the full scope of what her marriage had done to her, but she sees it now. Feels it. Feels the way it has shaped her into something different. She is still Eve, still has all her parts, but they’ve been forced out of form. She can get them back in order with the right care and trust and time, but it will be difficult. Tiring. Strenuous. It will ache and she will lash out at the pain, but she  _ will _ do it. She will not let Niko’s damage become permanent, no. She just needs hands at her back as she fights. 

Thank god for Villanelle. 

Eve had been the one to insist they have no contact, that things should be like they have been for the previous four weeks. Villanelle didn’t want to do that, she wanted to check in with Eve and make sure she was okay but Eve said no. She wants it, god does she want it, but she knows it isn’t right. They can’t put the case in jeopardy, not again.

And so five days pass with no contact.

Eve misses Villanelle deeply. 

When Monday rolls around she’s practically bouncing off the walls with nervous energy. 

Nervous because she sees Villanelle today, nervous because the hearing is in two days, nervous because three days from now it will all be over, money or no money.

Eve has to think about that for a second, for the millionth time. She’s got a lot on in the next 72 hours, Jesus.

She puts in effort with her outfit, needing that surge of confidence that she gets from knowing she looks good. 

Knowing Villanelle thinks she looks good helps too. 

She pulls on a gingham shirt in blue and white and tucks it into navy blue cropped trousers then heads downstairs, only to be sent immediately back upstairs by Keiko telling her to wear the yellow belt they’d bought a few weeks back. She slips on a pair of leopard print shoes, something she never thought she’d be bold enough to buy, grabs her new  _ old _ bag and sets off.

The tube ride is stuffy and warm but Eve hardly notices, the excitement and apprehension filling her to the brim with distraction. Even the elevator ride isn’t so bad, despite what her ironclad grip on the railing might suggest otherwise.

Hugo is there when the doors slide open, sat behind his desk against the far wall in the spacious lobby, and he lifts a hand in greeting.

“Hello you,” he says as she walks over, “looking fresh in those little shoes.”

Eve grins and rolls her eyes, shuffling her feet a bit.

“Shut up,” she laughs, “how are you?”

“Hm, fine,” he hums, then he hesitates, “...how are  _ you _ doing?”

The concern takes her by surprise. 

For half a second she’s shocked that he knows, shocked that Villanelle would tell him something that could impact the case, until she remembers that he was there when she stormed into the office and shouted and cried at Villanelle in the conference room less than a week ago. 

He must have dealt with the fallout. 

“Oh,” she starts, looking down, “I’m… okay. I’m okay. Did she… last week, did you…”

“I did,” he saves her from further awkward mumbling, “I was there, don’t worry.”

“Okay.” Eve nods, then she straightens herself up, scans his desk. “Where’s my coffee?”

“I thought we were past that.” He says with wide eyes. “We’re friends now, Eve.”

“Sure, whatever,” she shrugs, “but I want my coffee.”

“Well I’m not getting it for you.” He huffs and crosses his arms. “There’s a cafe on the 17th floor, go get it yourself!”

“That wasn’t the deal-”

Hugo interrupts her with the press of a button on the desk phone. 

“Ms Astankova?”

Eve glares silently, but she can’t stop the smile curling her lips at the normality of their banter. She’s missed this place. 

“Yes Hugo?” Villanelle’s slightly tinny voice filters through the speaker. 

“I have a Ms Polastri here for her 1 o’clock meeting.”

“Eve!” The woman’s disembodied voice is immediately chirpy and Eve can’t help but grin. Hugo smirks at her as Villanelle continues. “Send her in!”

The wooden door opens easily beneath her hand as Eve pushes her way into the familiar office, and there is Villanelle, sitting behind her desk and beaming in a silk white blouse with long, draping sash ties. 

“Hi Vil,” she says through her grin as Villanelle stands and heads towards her. 

“Eve, you look fantastic.” Villanelle almost purrs, taking in the outfit. “Keiko?”

“The belt was Keiko,” Eve tells her, still smiling wide as Villanelle closes the door behind her before taking her hands and tugging her towards the desk, “but the rest was me. Does it… work?”

“Oh, it works,” Villanelle murmurs smoothly, “you are learning.”

Eve scoffs at that but lets Villanelle pull her gently as she deposits her in the seat across from the desk. Long fingers trail softly on the shoulder of her shirt, no more than a second, then they’re gone. Villanelle rounds the desk and sits down, Eve watching her hips swish in the mustard yellow satin trousers as she goes.

“You look beautiful.” Eve tells her as she sits, which makes Villanelle pause for a moment, smiling coyly. 

“Are you trying to start something in my office? Again?” Villanelle says in hushed tones. “Eve, tsk.”

Eve laughs, letting the light that comes from Villanelle soak into her skin. 

“So,” she says as the blonde slides a notebook and pen towards her, “we’re going over the hearing proceedings today?”

“Yes,” Villanelle nods, “I will talk you through what to expect, what they will say, what I will say, and so on. But before any of that, we must talk about the evidence.”

“The bra and the receipt?”

“Mm, both the physical items and the photographs you took of them where you found them.” Villanelle clasps her hands in front of her. “I know we have talked about this before but, just to reiterate, I will be submitting them as evidence for the case at two thirty tomorrow.”

“Why two thirty?”

“Because that is exactly 24 hours before the hearing starts,” Villanelle explains, “which is the absolute latest time you are allowed to submit evidence. You want to submit it last minute so that the other party has as little time as possible to look over the evidence filed against them. It is called the discovery stage. “

“Okay,” Eve says, “do we submit anything else?”

“I will submit my claim that Niko has been cheating on you.”

“What about the gym stuff?” Eve asks. “Do we submit that?”

“That is all part of our argument,” Villanelle tells her, “I will use that when I make your case to the judge.”

“And the jury?”

“Jury?” Villanelle pulls her head back a little. “There is no jury, Eve, this is a divorce hearing, not a murder trial.”

“Oh,” Eve frowns, “but on TV-”

“Do not trust TV, that is for entertainment.” Villanelle chuckles. “In real life there is no jury for something like this. There might be random people there watching, of course. Anyone is allowed to come in and sit in the gallery.”

“Oh, that’s… oh.”

“Don’t worry,” Villanelle says, “this will not be a dramatic affair. I will state your case, Raymond will state his, and then the judge will decide who wins. It should not take long.”

“Jeez, seems like a big build up for something so… simple.”

“The intense build up is what makes the  _ end result  _ simple,” Villanelle shrugs, “so do not worry. It will be fine.”

“Okay,” Eve sits back in the chair, trying to release the tension building in her shoulders, “so what happens when you submit evidence?”

“Raymond and I will both go down to the courthouse. I am assuming I will see him there because he too will leave it until the last minute. We then submit our evidence, they will bag and box it, and then we each get to take the other’s box and look through what they have submitted.”

“So he’ll see the stuff we showed him in the meeting again?”

“Yes,” Villanelle nods, spinning side to side on her chair a little, “and my claim. And I will see whatever they submit.”

“What could they possibly have to submit.” Eve huffs. She’s starting to feel stressed, the apprehension for the hearing morphing into anxious territory.

“I doubt they have much, but Raymond is sneaky.” Villanelle grimaces. “Unfortunately it is possible that he will submit his claim that we are engaged in ethically ambiguous activities, putting my professionalism into question and, technically, accusing you of adultery also.”

“Me?” Eve gapes. “But I’m-”

“Still married, in the eyes of the law.” Villanelle says regrettably. “It is a bit of a grey area, but he may try to use it. But it is okay; our physical evidence trumps their ‘feeling’, despite that clerk seeing you at my house. We are allowed to be friends. You could have been there for any reason. Gemma’s bra under your wardrobe, not so much.”

“Okay,” Eve runs a hand through her hair, “okay. I trust you.”

“As you should,” Villanelle smiles, “I am excellent at what I do.”

A knock interrupts them.

“Coffee for Eve.” Hugo says, voice bored as he opens the door, “that I was in no way forced to fetch, not threatened or blackmailed  _ at _ all-”

“Thanks Hugo,” Eve cuts him off as he hands her the coffee, “you’re a doll.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He mutters dramatically on his way back out. 

Eve sips at the coffee and hums in delight, then looks up to find Villanelle’s eyes playfully narrowed. 

“Eve, are you threatening my staff?”

Eve hesitates. 

“No…” she says slowly. 

Villanelle stares for another few seconds before barking a laugh. 

“I love it!” She shouts. “Anyway, let’s talk about what will happen if they put you on the stand.”

Coffee dribbles down Eve’s chin as she spits in surprise. 

“ _ What _ ?” She asks desperately while wiping her mouth. “The stand? What do you mean? I thought you said this wasn’t like TV!”

“It is not,” Villanelle says, still casual, “but if Raymond wants to ask you questions about something then he will have to call you to the stand.”

“I…” Eve starts, putting her coffee down, “but what am I supposed to say? How do I act? Jesus, I can’t-”

“You can,” Villanelle says calmly, “and really the chances of it happening are very slim. In cases like these, solicitors do not want to question clients. If you have to resort to that then you are either desperate or not a very good lawyer.” 

“So you think I… won’t have to do that? Answer questions?”

“I think it is unlikely, because Raymond is not  _ terrible _ at his job, so he should be able to build a case without that. Unless he is desperate, in which case…” Villanelle tilts her head left and right, weighing something up before looking at Eve again. “It is okay, I will teach you how to answer the questions.”

Eve nods, trying to not let panic get the better of her. 

“You must answer questions as literally as you can. That’s all you need to know.” Villanelle says. “For example, if I was to ask you what you drank the night we first went for dinner, what would you say?”

“Uh,” Eve scrunches her forehead, remembering, “I think I had a whiskey? A whiskey cocktail maybe… an old fashioned? And-”

“No.”

Eve pauses. 

“No?”

“No.” Villanelle shakes her head. “The answer is ‘whiskey’.”

“Whiskey.”

“Yes!” Villanelle smiles. “Now, knowing that, if I ask you to elaborate, what could you say?”

Eve blinks, opens and closes her mouth a few times as she thinks. 

“Whiskey… with ice?”

“Excellent,” Villanelle grins, and the proud look makes Eve’s heart swell a little. “Answer as directly as possible, don’t give any details that he does not ask for.”

“Okay, understood.” Eve nods. 

Eve feels a bit better now, knowing that she’s got something right. She feels… prepared. She watches as Villanelle leans back in her chair, watches her twist her lips in distaste. 

“It would be stupid of Raymond to call you to the stand, but I cannot predict what that shit will do.” Villanelle grumbles as she absentmindedly picks up her pen and starts to click it. “He has done more moronic things though, so who knows what idiotic garbage he might pull.”

“Wow,” Eve says with a small smile, “you really don’t like the guy, do you?”

“He is an arsehole!” Villanelle suddenly bursts, before seemingly realising her behaviour and settling back down with a frown.

Eve narrows her eyes. 

“What happened?”

She gets to watch Villanelle’s expression turn momentarily owlish before she looks down at the pen in her hands. 

“What do you mean?”

“What happened that made you hate him so much?”

Villanelle rapidly clicks the pen, irritation crossing her features. 

“Nothing? Nothing happened, I am allowed to dislike rival lawyers, he is just… annoying, I just don’t like him.”

“Uh huh,” Eve deadpans, “sure. C’mon, why won’t you tell me? Is it… illegal?”

“Ha!” Villanelle laughs nervously, “no, it’s- it doesn’t matter.”

“Oksana.” Eve says imploringly, and the blonde immediately looks at her, wide eyed, slightly guilty. “What’s wrong?”

Villanelle takes a deep breath and pouts, elbows coming to rest on her desk, hands now fiddling with the pen against the wood. 

“I am worried…” she starts, shifting awkwardly, “I am worried you will not like me so much, if I tell you.”

Oh.

Well, that stops Eve in her tracks. 

The playful energy Eve had felt is gone, replaced with rabid curiosity.

“What did you do?” 

“Just… promise you will not judge me too much.” Villanelle mumbles, looking away from Eve.

And Eve-

Well. She’s surprised to find that she trusts Villanelle. Completely. 

“I won’t.” She says honestly. Villanelle takes a breath.

And then Hugo walks in.

“Hello, I-”

“Good  _ god _ , Hugo,” Eve almost shouts, “your timing is honestly just…  _ awful _ .”

“I’m… sorry?” He says, alarmed, but continues to stroll towards the desk. “What did I interrupt?”

“Noth-”

“She was about to tell me why she and Raymond hate each other.”

Hugo’s spine straightens and his smirking mouth purses. He slowly looks down at Villanelle who is doing a fantastic job of avoiding looking at either of them.

“Oh,” he says eventually, perching on the corner of the desk, “I think I should stay, then.”

“What?” Eve groans, “no, there’s no way she’ll tell me if you’re hanging around.”

“Actually,” Villanelle says quietly, “it… very much… involves him.” 

Eve stops trying to keep up. She sits back and stares at the pair, almost amused at Villanelle’s awkward posture and Hugo’s suddenly serious demeanour. She knows she should be more concerned, but if it was something  _ truly _ terrible then they wouldn’t have jobs, right?

“Come on then,” Eve chuckles nervously, waving a hand. “Out with it.”

Her smile falls a little when Villanelle looks desperately up at Hugo and he gives her a warm, comforting smile. Maybe she’s taking this too lightly. She tries to school her features. 

“Many years ago,” Villanelle starts, still not looking at Eve, “I worked in corporate law. It is not a very nice kind of law. You do not really help people, it is almost entirely about making money.”

Eve nods, brain already rushing to connect completely random dots. 

“Hugo worked with me, as my assistant slash secretary.” Villanelle indicates the man. “That is how we met.”

“Love at first sight.” Hugo says wistfully, and Villanelle scoffs. 

“You wish.” She mumbles through a small smile, and Hugo grimaces playfully. 

“No way,” he says, “you’re too tall, it’s off putting.”

“Anyway,” Villanelle presses, light moment over, “yes, that is how we know each other.”

“Alright,” Eve says slowly, looking between the two, “not seeing how this could lead to you hating Raymond, but okay.”

“She’s getting to that.” Hugo interjects, earning him a scowl from Villanelle. 

“Twice a year, there is a big event for lawyers in London. A fancy hall is hired, lots of booze and suits and boring conversation, that sort of thing. Networking, gossiping, you know.”

“They are  _ the best _ .” Hugo supplies. “People always get far too drunk and do things they shouldn’t do. It’s brilliant.”

Villanelle shrinks a little in her seat.

“Like you?” Eve asks her, eyebrow raised. Villanelle huffs.

“I wasn’t drunk.” She says. “But I did do something I should not have done.”

“You didn’t know.” Hugo tells her, and she shrugs. 

“So there was a woman there. I found out after that her name was Anna,” Villanelle sits up straighter, as if trying to shake something off, “friendly, beautiful, dark curly hair-” she stops herself, and Eve's mouth drops open. 

“You do have a type, don't you.” She says, smirking a little when Villanelle rolls her eyes. 

“Whatever,” the blonde shrugs, “that is not important. Anyway, there she was and I was a little tipsy, and she was too, and we got chatting and then-”

“You took her home.” Eve finishes for her. Villanelle looks surprised. 

“Uh, well, yes, kind of,” Villanelle stumbles through her words. Eve gets the feeling Villanelle wasn’t expecting her to be so forward with her guess, as if she thinks Eve is fairly innocent. Shielded from life’s realities by marriage, maybe? It’s cute, whatever the reason, and Eve smiles while shaking her head at the woman.

“Go on.” She encourages, and Villanelle sighs. 

“We had sex.” Villanelle waves a hand. “ _ Obviously _ . Not at home, but some other room in the building. And it was great, and I was close to asking if she maybe wanted to do it again sometime but…” she trails off uncomfortably, looking up at Hugo. He nods.

“But?” Eve asks. 

Villanelle drops her head back to stare at the ceiling, then looks at Eve, eyes serious and direct. 

“She told me she was married.”

Eve blinks.

“You slept with a married woman?”

“I did not know she was married.” Villanelle leans forward, voice insistent. “I had no idea.”

“Oh,” Eve says, and then she shrugs, much to Villanelle’s clear surprise, “okay. Then what?”

The room is silent as Eve looks between the pair of them, Villanelle glancing up at Hugo, confused, while Hugo tilts his head at Eve. 

“Huh,” he says eventually, “I guess she didn’t mind.”

Villanelle looks at the ceiling and mutters before turning back to Eve. 

“Yes, well, anyway, she was married.”

“Is she a lawyer?”

“No.” Villanelle says, eyes darting a little, clicking the pen some more. 

“Why was she at the event then?”

Hugo is biting his lip to stop himself from smiling, Eve notices, and Villanelle still won’t look at her. 

“You could bring partners to the events. Boyfriends, husbands,” Villanelle’s gaze wanders the ceiling, “wives.”

The way she says ‘wives’ is curious. Embarrassed, almost, and quiet. Once Eve thinks back to the start of the conversation, it only takes Eve a second to understand Villanelle’s awkward demeanour and Hugo’s poorly contained smirk.

“No...” Eve says, eyes widening. 

Villanelle purses her lips guiltily, still not looking at Eve. 

“Yes.” Hugo says for her, nodding.

“ _ No _ !” Eve says again, and even she is starting to grin now.

“Yes!” Hugo’s nod has become enthusiastic, giddy as Villanelle looks to be trying to melt into her chair. 

“Villanelle…” Eve starts, eyes gleaming with disbelief at the blonde. “Did you… sleep with Raymond’s wife?”

“I didn’t know they were married!” Villanelle cries, throwing her hands up in anger, and Eve loses it. 

“Oh my god!” Eve laughs loudly, “You slept with his  _ wife _ ? Villanelle! No wonder the guy hates you!”

“It makes no sense!” Villanelle wails. “Why did he hate  _ me _ ? I didn’t know! Anna is the one he should’ve hated!”

“Didn’t he?” Eve asks, still laughing in shock. Villanelle pouts sulkily. 

“Yes,” she admits, “they got divorced.”

“Then it sounds like she got her comeuppance.” Eve’s laughter dies down until she’s smiling at the still pouting blonde. “So, I get why he hates you, but why do  _ you _ hate  _ him _ ? Surely you’d… grovel, wouldn’t you?”

Hugo suddenly isn’t smirking anymore, Eve realises as she glances at him, and honestly Eve is starting to get whiplash from how fast the tone keeps changing in here. He sighs a little, and Villanelle slumps back down. 

“Eve,” she starts, “you are of course aware of ethically ambiguous activities.”

“Well, duh.” Eve says, and she’s glad to see Villanelle smile for half a second before it slides away again.

“In this industry it is taken very seriously, of course, and while… sleeping with a lawyer’s wife is not illegal, it certainly is not  _ good _ . Especially when they are also the secretary for said lawyer.”

“Oh,” Eve says, “an employee? That’s…”

“Yeah,” Villanelle nods with a sigh, “bad. You cannot get fired for it, but it puts a big mark by your name so that finding employment in this business becomes very, very difficult. Almost impossible. No one wants a lawyer with bad morals.”

“Isn’t that, like… all lawyers?”

Villanelle frowns. 

“Read the room.” Hugo stage whispers to Eve, who rolls her eyes. 

“Whatever,” she says, “but you didn’t get the mark obviously, as you’re working now?”

“No, I didn’t.” Villanelle nods with a small, sad smile.

Hugo clears his throat.

“But I did.”

The mood in the room has shifted again. 

“You did?” Eve asks. “Why?”

“Villanelle was going to lose her job.”

“But you just said-”

“You cannot be fired for what I did,” Villanelle tells her, “but it is not hard to come up with other, silly reasons to fire a person if need be.”

“Shit,” Eve sits back and looks at Hugo, “so… where do you come in?” 

“Villanelle found me and told me what happened, so I did what I do best…”

He waits for Eve to answer, who simply shoots him a bewildered look. 

“Gossip?” She guesses. 

“Networking,” he huffs, I’m good at networking. Anyway, I found Anna, and found who she was married to Mr Raymond Smith. Vil and I ditched the party pretty soon after that, but I kept my ear to the ground. Next thing I know, the secretary Facebook group-”

“You have a Facebook group?” Eve scoffs. 

“Yeah?” He shrugs. “Anyway, next thing I know, word hits the group that Anna slept with someone at the event. She leaves the group. It’s a total shocker, honestly, the drama was-”

“Hugo.” Villanelle interrupts, giving him a look. 

“Right, I realise that if that lot knows then the lawyers must know, meaning Raymond knows. So I did the obvious thing,” he shrugs, “I went to their firm’s office.”

“Obviously.” Eve nods with slightly alarmed eyes, gaze darting to Villanelle who has her chin in her hand, staring right back at Eve. They smile, quietly. 

“Anna is there. I corner her and ask if she’s told Raymond who she slept with, and she says yes. She’d told Raymond it was a young blonde lawyer, Russian,  _ female _ .” 

“Oh boy.” Eve mutters.

“Yeah,” Hugo agrees, “kind of narrows it down.” Hugo pauses for a moment, then smiles a little at Eve. “Did you know I used to want to be an actor?”

It’s… a total blind turn. 

“Huh?”

“Mm,” Hugo hums, still smiling, “I used to go to theatre summer school, acting classes, the lot. I was pretty good, but then I realised that law was where the real money was.”

“Okay?” Eve says, struggling to understand. Hugo flashes her a wink. 

“I’m still very good.” He preens. “And I was good when I spoke to Anna, too. I can make crocodile tears happen like  _ that _ .” He clicks his fingers. “And Anna actually is a very lovely woman, despite the… extra marital activities. I cried and told her all about Villanelle, my boss, my best friend, my sweet lovely Villanelle and how hard she’d studied and worked to get where she was, and how awful it would be if all of that was for nought.”

Eve watches as Villanelle rolls her eyes a little, but they’re watery and fond as Hugo talks. 

“I begged Anna to tell Raymond that it wasn’t the blonde Russian. I begged her to tell Raymond that she’d lied in a panic, that it was me she’d slept with instead.”

Eve sucks in a quick breath.

“You took the fall for her?”

He nods. 

“Of course.” He says simply. “I didn’t go through years of school and exams and blah blah blah to get to where I am like she did. There was no question that I’d take the fall.”

He looks at Villanelle with a smile. 

“Anna agreed to change her story, and three weeks later I was ‘let go’ for some bullshit, but really it was due to the scandal. Someone had to pay for it, and that someone was me.”

“I promised I would always have a job for him.” Villanelle says. “I would bring him with me wherever I worked. So I handed in my notice and decided to open this place with my uncle, with Hugo as our secretary and my assistant.” 

“That’s really sweet,” Eve says, frowning a little, “and Hugo, you’re a stand up guy, seriously, but… if you took the fall, why does Raymond still hate Villanelle?”

“Because he knows, deep down, that it was me. He did what he could to make my professional life hell after that, especially the week following.” Villanelle sighs. “Despite Anna changing her story, despite getting Hugo fired, he knows that it was me. But no one would believe him, so.” She lifts her hands in a shrug, then leans to rest her head against Hugo’s side, the man still perched on her desk. “When did I last thank you?”

“About three weeks ago.” He tells her. “I’m due another thank you in a week.”

“Okay.” Villanelle nods solemnly. 

“So, Raymond hates you because you accidentally banged his wife,” Eve says slowly, “and you hate him because he threatened your job, got your assistant fired, and has since tried to make your working life hell.”

“Yep,” Villanelle says, “that’s all.”

“That’s all.” Eve chuckles. “Wow. You two are… wow.”

“Thank you.” Says Hugo proudly. “So. Do you still like Villanelle?”

The blonde sits up and back hands his thigh. 

“Hugo!” 

He gapes at Villanelle, rubbing the spot indignantly. 

“Ouch, what!” He says. “I’m just asking! You’re clearly not going to, even though you were the one that was worried.”

“I still don’t understand why you’re worried I’d judge you?” Eve asks gently with a smile, “why would I not like you for any of that?”

“Because… because?” Villanelle shrugs, shy. “My past behaviour. My tendency to… sleep with… anyone.”

“God, no,” Eve laughs, “You're your own person with your own lifestyle. I wish I’d been more like you when I was younger instead of getting married.”

Villanelle shifts in her seat, eyes nervous. 

“Soon you won’t be married. Do you wish you could do it now? Once you’re free?”

Eve balks.

“Sweetheart,” Eve says softly, “why would I wish that when I have you?”

The smile that grows on Villanelle’s face is wide and bright, slow and sweet. Her cheeks dust pink and she looks away for a second before settling back on Eve, eyes darker than before. 

“I would like to revisit the ‘no sex in my office’ rule.”

“And I’m out.” Hugo says as he hops off the desk. “Bye.”

Eve purses her lips until he’s out the door, then breathes out a laugh. 

“I literally forgot he was even here.” She says in a low tone. “Is that bad?”

“No,” Villanelle smiles, “tell me more about how much you like me.”

“I don’t remember saying anything like that.” Eve narrows her eyes in mock thought. Villanelle pouts. 

“I am pretty sure you did.”

“Nope,” Eve shakes her head as she stands, walking around the desk to the blonde, “can’t recall.”

“Well,” Villanelle sighs while reaching to tug Eve closer by her hands, “that is a shame, because I was going to tell you the same things.”

“Oh?” Eve smiles, her thighs bumping against Villanelle’s, “maybe I do remember after all. Yeah, actually, you know what, I do remember. I like you a whole lot.”

“Wow, that is incredibly inappropriate, Eve.” Villanelle deadpans, all the while pulling Eve down until the woman sits across her lap. She loops her arms around Villanelle’s shoulders. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Eve murmurs, eyes fixed on cherry red lips. “Are you gonna tell me off? Reprimand me?”

“I hear they can see your power kink from space.” Villanelle smirks. Eve chuckles airily. 

“Sorry boss.” Eve breathes out.

Her lips are on Villanelle a second later, warm and soft, the taste of Villanelle’s expensive lipstick enough to make her sigh.

Hands curve around Eve, one sliding to hold her hip and the other resting atop the thigh closest to Villanelle. Eve swears she can feel the blonde’s heat through the fabric. 

Their mouths move, practiced now, the gentle push and tilt a rhythm they fall into with no preamble. There’s a hint of tongue and Eve opens to it and then the kiss is deeper, hotter, wet as their tongues tease and slide. Eve’s hand moves to Villanelle’s hair and her fingers slip into the roots, cupping and tugging in a way that has Villanelle grunting ever so softly into her mouth. 

Eve whimpers at the sound.

And then almost screams at the next sound. 

Three firm, heavy knocks at the door. 

They jerk apart, and Eve is immediately and unceremoniously dropped from Villanelle’s lap, straight onto the floor. 

“Konstantin!” She hears the blonde say cheerily, edging herself casually away from the desk in her office chair, leaving just enough room for Eve to squeeze into the leg space beneath.

“Villanelle,” a deep, gruff voice greets the blonde, “how are you?”

“I am fantastic, how are you?”

“Fine. You are not yelling at me for not bringing you a sandwich like normal?”

Eve rolls her eyes with a smile at that comment. 

“I am in a good mood,” Villanelle replies, “lucky you.”

“Yes, lucky me,” Konstantin says. Eve hears his footsteps approach and stop by the side of the desk. “So, how is the Hooper case?”

“Fine, fine.” Villanelle says, Eve watching as the legs in mustard yellow silk wiggle nervously, “I was going through the predispositions of the custody arrangement.”

Eve blinks, then swallows. She has no idea what Villanelle just said, but damn it the effects of their kiss still linger and Eve feels herself flush at the impressive jargon. Christ, she really needs to get a grip, this is a very serious situation.

“Excellent.” Konstantin’s disembodied voice says. “And, what of the Polastri case?”

“Uh,” Villanelle hesitates, and Eve almost pinches the woman’s calf for it, “good, good. Just your… typical divorce case. The hearing is in two days.”

“I see,” Konstantin says, “and that is why she is under the desk? So that she can be ready to jump right into action?”

Well, fuck.

Eve closes her eyes and wills her heart to calm. The room is silent, Villanelle’s legs no longer wiggling with anxious energy. Eventually, she hears a sigh. 

“Eve,” Villanelle’s loud whisper reaches her, and she opens her eyes to see Villanelle peering down at her, “I think he knows you are here.”

“You  _ think _ ?” Eve grumbles. 

She starts to crawl out. Nothing says ‘meet the family’ like being on your hands and knees. 

“Um. Hi.” Eve says awkwardly as she stands, brushing her knees off. “I’m Eve.”

The large man in front of her is instantly recognisable as one of the men from the table that night in the restaurant. His thick eyebrows are raised, and his smile tells Eve he is somewhat disbelieving of what he’s seeing. 

“Eve, hello.” He says, holding out a hand to shake, “I am Konstantin. As Villanelle’s uncle, it is nice to finally meet you.”

“Likewise.” Eve tries her best to smile confidentially, but it’s difficult when she can hear Villanelle attempting to stifle laughter behind her. “Uh… I should go.”

“Mm,” Konsantin nods in agreement, “maybe you should, because I am about to change from the kind uncle to the furious business partner and I do not think you will want to be here for it.”

Yikes. 

Eve gives him a tight smile and a nod before scurrying to the front of the desk and grabbing her bag. She chances a look at Villanelle and finds the woman pulling a dramatically desperate look, lips pulled downwards like a fish and eyes wide with fake panic. 

“Eve, don’t leave me,” she whines, “he is going to do the disappointed face, I cannot bear it.”

Eve laughs because, well, she can’t help it. Konstantin looks scary but he’s also staring at Villanelle with a tired sort of fondness, clearly trying to look angry but failing as Villanelle puts on whatever agonised show she’s performing for the two of them right now. 

“I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Eve tells her, and she allows herself a small smile. “Just don’t tell him what you said about office sex.”

“ _ What _ ?” Konsantin shouts as Eve slips out the door, grinning at the irritated eye roll it drags from the blonde. She closes the door and leans against it, taking in a deep breath as she smiles. 

Villanelle will be fine. 

Probably.

——

It’s three on the dot the following day when Eve gets the call. 

“Hello Hugo.” she answers, looking back at her laptop that sits on Bill’s dining room table. “What’s up?”

“Hi. You need to come in.”

Eve frowns, clicking through a document. 

“Okay, when?”

“Right now.”

Eve stops clicking. 

“What? Why? I’m working-”

“The evidence has been submitted, Villanelle is on her way back from the courthouse. You need to get here right away, she’s cleared the rest of the day for you.”

His voice is straight to the point, no hint of a smirk, no edge of humour. 

“What happened?” Eve asks as she closes her laptop. “What did-”

“I don’t know.” He tells her. “But Villanelle was pretty bloody clear about getting you to the office as soon as possible.”

“Okay, okay, I’m on my way.”

“See you soon.”

Hugo hangs up and leaves Eve to stare at her phone, panic rising as she rushes out the door. 

——

Eve closes her eyes in the elevator. 

When she reaches the top she’s not met by just Hugo. 

“Villanelle,” she says immediately upon seeing the blonde standing by Hugo’s desk, tapping her foot rapidly. “What’s-”

“Come on,” Villanelle interrupts with a nod of her head towards her door, “in my office.”

Once inside, Villanelle strides behind her desk. She gestures for Eve to sit. 

“What’s going on?” Eve tries to keep the worry from her voice as she drops slowly into the chair, but it sounds strained regardless. “Did… did something go wrong?”

“No, no,” Villanelle says, sitting in her own chair and eventually settling her gaze on Eve. “Our evidence was submitted just fine.”

“Okay, and theirs…?”

Villanelle simply stares at her for a moment, then plasters on a smile. 

It doesn’t reach her eyes. 

“All submitted, but Eve, I’m afraid I have some… news.”

Eve feels her stomach sink, cold and heavy like a river rock. 

“Okay…”

Villanelle is quiet, then sighs. Her face morphs into something… braced. Ready. 

“He heard you.”

Eve doesn’t understand at first. 

“Heard me?” Eve asks, frowning in confusion. “Who-”

It hits her.

_ He heard you. _

“Oh my god.”

Her voice is weak. She slumps back in her chair. 

“Yes.” Villanelle nods. “Niko overheard you and Bill. They are putting forward an adultery motion of their own.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am taking liberties with the law, but the rest is handled by my best lawyer friend who this fic quite literally wouldn’t exist without, because I am an actual dumbass


	26. Bordering on dangerous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: THE HEARING, PART 1!  
> This is overly dramatic for the sake of fan fiction, I cannot stress that enough. Also I love Legally Blonde.

Eve’s leg will not stop bouncing. 

“Eve.”

The woman doesn’t seem to hear her, and the leg continues to bounce. 

“Eve.”

A hum. The leg bounces harder. 

Villanelle sighs. She reaches across the gear console and puts her hand gently on Eve’s knee. The bouncing finally stops. Eve jerks her head to look at her as if coming out of a stupor. 

“Huh?”

“Eve, please, it is going to be fine.” Villanelle tells her softly. “Do not worry too much, we’ve got this.”

“What if we don’t?” Eve asks quietly, slumping further in the passenger seat. “What if-”

“Are you doubting my abilities as a solicitor?” Villanelle says with a raised eyebrow and playful smile. 

“No, of course not.”

“Then please, try to not panic too much. I know it is scary, but we have gone over everything more than once. You are going to do just fine. Do you want to discuss anything one last time?” 

“Just… run through the order again? Pretty sure it’s tattooed onto my brain now but…”

Villanelle gets it.

“Okay. First, we go in. Then we sit down.”

“Villanelle…” Eve grumbles with a small smile. 

“What? You asked. We go in, we sit, the judge enters, we stand, the judge sits, we sit. The judge will announce why we’re there, et cetera. Then Raymond and I will present our evidence and argue our cases. Then the judge will leave and go over everything, then they’ll come back in and say who wins.”

“And it’ll continue tomorrow?”

“Yes, seeing as it has been delayed until three thirty it is impossible that we will get this done by five.” Villanelle explains. “Not with you being called to the stand.”

“I still can’t believe I have to do that…”

“Hey,” Villanelle glances at her briefly, “it will be fine. I promise.”

Eve nods and blows out a steadying breath.

“Okay. Okay.” Eve says. “I can do this.”

“You can.” Villanelle smiles. She takes her hand back and they continue to drive towards the courthouse. 

“Oksana?”

Villanelle’s stomach flutters. She’s noticed that Eve only uses that name when she is feeling soft or serious, like the name is something personal and special. 

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

Oh.

Hearing it out loud…

Villanelle doesn’t try to control her smile. 

She glances at Eve. Is she glowing? Eve is looking at her as if she put the sun in the sky. 

“I love you too.”

Eve smiles shyly back, eyes warm, cheeks slightly flushed. Villanelle can’t help the breathless laugh that escapes her. 

“I cannot believe you would tell me that while I am driving.” She says through her grin. “Do you want me to crash the car? You really don’t want to go to court do you, wow.” 

Eve laughs around an outraged gasp. 

“No! It just… I realised I hadn’t said it yet. So… I wanted to.”

Villanelle bites her lip and glances at Eve once more. 

“How long?” Villanelle asks gently. 

Eve sighs happily. 

“Since you fucked me in that gross bathroom stall.”

Villanelle laughs loudly and focusses on the road again, heart swelling at Eve’s soft chuckles. 

“You are so romantic.” She tells Eve as she calms down. 

“Only for you.” Eve replies with a faux seriousness.

And Villanelle starts laughing all over again.

Because Eve loves her. 

The mood stays light and warm and bubbly until Villanelle parks the car and they walk, side by side, up to the courthouse. 

“Shit.” Eve mumbles under her breath, but Villanelle hears her. 

“You’re fine.” 

“No, look, it’s Niko.”

Villanelle glances ahead and sees them, Niko and Raymond, chatting on the courthouse steps. 

“Ugh, what are they wearing?”

Eve chuckles, but it’s strained. 

“Well, Niko is wearing the suit he took Gemma out to dinner in, and Raymond-”

“Is wearing a carpet?”

“Is… well, yeah.”

Villanelle wrinkles her nose at the sight. Whatever Raymond is wearing, it’s terrible. A beige tone that looks like it was supposed to be sand but just comes off as stained cream, and a texture that really can only be described as carpet-like. Villanelle looks down at herself and Eve. 

“Well, we certainly look like the winners already.”

Villanelle is dressed in a fitted black suit and white shirt, hair scooped back and styled into a neat low ponytail. Her heels are black and expensive, and she wears no jewellery but a simple gold wristwatch. Very professional. Very sleek. ‘Very hot’, too, as Eve had told her when she arrived at the office that morning. 

Eve herself looks… beyond Villanelle’s extensive knowledge of the English language. 

Loose but perfectly shaped trousers and blazer in bright cobalt blue with a faint navy tartan pattern overtop. Sleeves rolled neatly to expose her wrists. Floating white top tucked in at the waist. Curls glossy. Brogues shiny. 

Eve looks  _ devastating _ .

Even Niko looks at her twice, eyes widening slightly as he does a double take. 

Possessiveness flares in Villanelle’s chest.

“He’s not looked at me like that for about seven years.” Eve mumbles. 

“Because he is an arsehole.” Villanelle bites quietly. All she wants to do is take Eve’s hand and show the world and this bastard that this glorious woman is with her, wants her, loves her, but she can’t. Not yet, but soon. 

Villanelle hangs onto that. 

“Let’s go in.” She tells Eve, straightening to her fullest height as she sweeps them by the two men. She flashes them a poisonous smile on the way, delighting in the way both of their gazes darken angrily.

Villanelle has been in the courthouse countless times so she watches as Eve takes in the blank walls and imposing height of the hallway, the serious looking signs and the tiled floor. They enter the courtroom and Eve pauses, hesitates a moment before continuing. 

“Are you okay?” Villanelle murmurs. 

“Yeah,” Eve nods, “just… this is the room that it’ll happen in. Tomorrow I’ll walk out of here divorced.”

Warmth curls in Villanelle’s chest as she smiles. She indicates a table to the left of the room, positioned in front of the gallery rows and facing the raised podium for the judge. 

“That’s ours.” Villanelle tells her. They head to the table and Villanelle pulls Eve’s chair out for her, privately delighting in the soft pink blush it brings to the woman’s cheeks.

Villanelle begins to unpack her briefcase. Files of papers are laid out on the table and Eve immediately starts fiddling with them. 

“What are you doing?” Villanelle asks curiously. 

“I-“ Eve drops the papers and straightens them. “Sorry. Just wanted something to do with my hands. I’m nervous.”

Villanelle regards her for a moment, then hands her a pad and a pen. 

“Here,” she says, “write down the hearing order then write it again.”

Eve rolls her eyes at her but grabs the pen anyway before diligently scribbling the process as Villanelle reorganises her information. She hears people file into the room but doesn’t look, focussing her attention on the sheets before her. 

She’s gone through everything so many times that she barely has to read the words; they simply exist in her mind now, ready to be used. She is confident and calm, but the jagged claws of nervousness at the back of her brain itch and sting nonetheless, a product of being close to one of her clients for once, a product of caring more than she has before. 

She cannot lose this case for Eve. It isn’t an option. 

And if,  _ if _ , it happens? If they lose? Villanelle isn’t entirely sure how she will deal with it. How can she look at Eve knowing she failed her?

It isn’t an option. 

She reads the words again. 

——

“All rise for the honourable Judge Reed.”

The bailiff’s voice is clear and loud, his slight figure still an imposing one as he stands at full height by the podium. 

Villanelle stands smoothly, Eve rising next to her with a quiet yet sharp intake of breath. Villanelle’s fingers ache to comfort her but they stay on the table in front of them, stiff with the effort of keeping still. 

The judge walks in. She’s a small but muscular looking woman with shiny dark hair and eyes, a stern gaze behind thick glasses on her surprisingly young face. She sits and throws a quick nod to the bailiff who looks once again at the room. 

“Please be seated.”

Eve is clumsy in her descent, thudding into the chair and murmuring a hushed ‘sorry’ to no one in particular as Villanelle sits calmly. Villanelle uses the excuse of carefully shutting Eve’s notebook to lean forward a little and turn her head towards the woman. She smiles softly when Eve’s eyes immediately snap to hers, and watches as she lets out a steadying breath while smiling back. 

Villanelle sits straight again as the judge clears her throat and pushes her glasses up her nose. 

“Case number CL170289, Polastri versus Polastri.” She announces in a deep voice, crisp around the edges. “Divorce settlement for a marriage that parties wish to terminate with immediate effect.”

The room is silent. Eve’s hands fidget in her lap, fingers twisting tightly as Villanelle darts her gaze downwards. 

“Let’s examine the prenup.” Judge Reed says while picking up the file in front of her and opening it. Her eyes scan it for a minute. “Counsels, why are we not adhering to the prenuptial indemnity clause?”

“Your honour,” Villanelle speaks up, sensing Eve jump a little next to her, “my client does not subscribe to the terms of the prenup as is, due to an infringement; my client believes she is entitled to damages worth £250,000 due to Mr Polastri’s infidelity.”

Judge Reed studies her over her glasses before looking towards Raymond and Niko’s table, mere metres from their own on the other side of the room. 

“Thank you Ms Astankova. Mr Smith, what is your response?”

“Opposing counsel is projecting,” comes Raymond’s voice, tinged with a smirk, “as we have reason to believe that Mrs Polastri has, in fact, cheated on  _ my _ client.” 

Soft gasps sound from the back of the room, drawing everyone’s attention. Villanelle peers round, frowning in confusion. It’s rare for anyone in the gallery to make noise in a hearing like this.

Turning though, she gets why. 

Bill is sitting there, arms folded and brow furrowed next to an equally looking annoyed woman who Villanelle has to assume is Keiko. At the turning of everyone, however, she starts to look embarrassed and covers a grimace with her hand. 

Villanelle can’t help but chuckle softly. 

“Oh my god.” She hears Eve murmur, embarrassed, “I had no idea they were coming, I swear.”

A sniffle distracts them further and Villanelle looks over to the far corner to see a woman with long brown hair and tearful eyes, wearing a blouse that is, quite frankly, far too low cut to be appropriate in a courthouse. 

“Are you kidding me?” Eve hisses. Villanelle goes to ask who it is but the judge is clearing her throat again. 

“Quiet.” She says, her eyes glaring a warning at the back rows. “Counsels, have either of you got evidence to substantiate your claims?”

“Yes, your honour.” Villanelle says. She feels the familiar surge of confidence when the judge nods at her, feels it spark at her fingertips. She quickly looks to Eve and gives her a calm and reassuring smile but tries to take the softness out of it, tries to not let it appear too warm for others to pick up on. 

Villanelle stands. 

“In my statement I’m going to show why my client is entitled to indemnities of a value of £250,000 as stipulated in the prenuptial agreement by Mr Polastri. Your honour, my first piece of evidence to bring to the court’s attention is exhibit A, a brassiere found at the home of Eve and Niko Polastri.”

The bailiff turns to the small table he stands in front of and pulls the bra from the box, still safe in its plastic evidence bag, and hands it to the judge who stares at it with a frown. 

“This brassiere was found in the bedroom of Mr and Mrs Polastri underneath the wardrobe.” Villanelle says as she walks over to a large easel near the evidence table. She flips the cover away revealing a photo of the bra. “Exhibit B, the photo of said brassiere under said wardrobe. My client found this bra while packing her belongings to stay with a friend. This bra does  _ not _ belong to my client.”

“Objection.” Raymond says loudly. “Argumentative. Who is to say that this bra does not belong to Mrs Polastri?”

Villanelle indicates the bra in the judge’s hands and then the large photo on the easel, narrowing her eyes a little. 

“The bra has F cups.” She says slowly. 

“And?” Raymond retorts. “Your point?”

Slightly bewildered, Villanelle looks at the judge and then back at Raymond before waving a hand at Eve’s torso. 

“Well, I mean… look at them.”

Villanelle glances over at Eve and catches the woman frowning and looking down at her own chest. There’s a snort of laughter from the gallery that sounds suspiciously like Bill.

“Order,” the judge pats her hand on her file, irritated, “silence in my courtroom. Objection overruled, Mr Smith. Given the… physical evidence the claimant's counsel has provided, I ought it reasonable that the brassiere does in fact not belong to the claimant. Counsel, continue.” She nods at Villanelle. 

“Thank you, your honour.” Villanelle smiles. “As I was saying, this bra was found beneath the wardrobe of the parties’ shared bedroom. This bra clearly does not belong to my client. So, who could it belong to? It isn’t likely that a friend of my client’s would have removed their bra on a casual visit and then forgotten about it.”

“Objection.” Raymond barks again. “Argumentative. The bra could have been purchased by Mrs Polastri and planted.”

“True,” Villanelle tilts her head in agreement before looking at the judge, “but really, that is a lot of effort. Is it not much more likely that my client found this bra that had been discarded and forgotten about by someone known to Mr Polastri?” Villanelle spins on her heel, somewhat dramatically, taking measured steps towards the opposing table. “And while I believe this bra is a solid piece of evidence, there are certainly more foolproof ways a person could… allude to adultery than a bra beneath a wardrobe. Seems a bit lazy.”

“Objection!” Raymond throws his hand up. “This is purely speculation!”

“Sustained.” The judge says. “Ms Astankova please refrain from speculating.” She stares down at the stenographer. “Strike that from the record.”

“Just a thought,” Villanelle shrugs casually, “just a thought. And there is, of course, the scent on the bra. It’s quite overpowering actually,” Villanelle scrunches her nose up at the judge, “a bit overdone. But luckily strong enough to be recognised by a perfumer, and it’s likely that a perfumer could identify that perfume as one that also sits on a certain colleague of Mr Polastri’s dresser, should we need to dig that deep.”

Raymond stays silent as Villanelle waits for him to object again, seething from his position, fair skin mottling pink. 

Villanelle shrugs again, a gentle lift of one shoulder. 

“Okay,” she chirps. “Your honour, I would now like to present exhibit C: a receipt to popular London restaurant Benares, and exhibit D: a photo of said receipt where it was found in the pocket of Mr Polastri’s trousers.” 

As the bailiff retrieves the evidence back, Villanelle turns to the judge. 

“Seriously amazing Indian food,” she whispers conspiratorially, face turned away from Raymond. 

“I’ll take your word for it.” The judge deadpans as she is given the bag. Villanelle heads to the easel and flips to the next photo featuring Eve’s hand holding the receipt, mostly on display but with a corner still in the pocket of a pair of trousers. 

“As you can see, your honour, that receipt in your hands dates back to March 27th. Two meals and two starters were ordered, along with sides and a bottle of wine. Clearly a meal for two people. My client, however, was not there, which her work records can prove.”

“Objection.” Raymond says and throws his hand up. “My client is allowed to go out for meals with people that are not his wife.”

Villanelle is surprised that he objects, considering what happened last time he tried to use the same excuse. 

“Your honour, this does lead somewhere.” Villanelle says calmly. 

“Overruled, Mr Smith. Counsel, continue.”

“Mr Smith is right, of course; this is the twenty-first century, going out for a meal with a friend or coworker is completely acceptable, and for me to tell you now that my client wasn’t aware that her husband went out for a meal would just be objected as speculation, I’m sure.” She flashes a bored look at Raymond then, waiting, but he simply stares back.

“My client  _ did _ know that Mr Polastri was out that night, actually. In fact, she knew that Mr Polastri was out every Thursday night. The difference here is that my client was under the impression that Mr Polastri was out playing squash.”

“Objection.” Raymond says,  _ again _ . “An evening happens to contain a few hours, in which time both a game of squash  _ and _ a meal out could be had.” 

“The meal  _ after _ squash, I hope.” Villanelle grimaces. 

“Sustained,” Judge Reed says, “strike it from the record. Ms Astankova, I do not know how long it takes you to eat, but Mr Smith is correct.”

Okay. So that’s his plan.

Villanelle regroups mentally. 

“You are right,” Villanelle nods, glancing at Raymond, “a squash match lasts roughly 45 minutes to an hour, so even if two games were played, dinner could follow. This dinner in question, however, was at Benares, a costly Indian restaurant which requires booking in advance. Again,” Villanelle says quickly, “that is not an issue here, but regardless it is a fact that this is a nice place to dine. High class. Suit and tie, like the suit trousers the receipt was found in.”

Raymond looks around himself dramatically, faux confusion on his face as he gears himself up for another objection, so Villanelle presses on quickly. 

“The suit trousers were found by my client in Mr Polastri’s gym bag on the floor of their bedroom while she looked for clothes to pack.”

“Objection,” Raymond barks, “Mrs Polastri had no right to go through my client’s things.”

“The bag was a simple zip fastened one, on the floor of their shared bedroom, already slightly open. Is it strange for a wife to, while looking for her own things, look through a completely inconspicuous bag that should not reveal any wrongdoings? It was her husband’s gym bag and she had no inkling of adultery. In fact, as the other party claims so strongly that no adultery occurred, really they should see no issue with my client happening to go through a bag if nothing was afoot.”

Villanelle looks from the judge to Raymond, eyebrows up in feigned innocence. She can practically feel the heat from Raymond’s glare… it’s glorious. 

When this is all over, Villanelle is going to take Eve somewhere warm. 

Anyway. 

“Overruled.” The judge says. “I see no reason why the claimant would not be allowed to go through an open gym bag in shared premises.”

It’s all Villanelle can do not to preen, so instead she settles for a smile. 

“As I was saying, my client found the receipt coming out of the pocket of the suit trousers as she looked for anything of hers in the bag. A quick glance at the receipt had her confused, and again it is not strange for her to look; they have a joint account, it makes sense. Upon seeing the sum spent and the restaurant name, my client began to have doubts. The date, which so happened to be the previous Thursday, was squash night. And yes,” Villanelle looks lazily at Raymond, “he could have played squash and then gone for food, but would that work within this specific timeline?”

Villanelle walks over to the easel and points at a specific part of the photo of the receipt. 

“Your honour, you’ll notice that the receipt specifies a time, stating when the bill was paid, of course: a quarter to nine.” She draws a circle with her finger around the pixelated 20:43. “My client knows that Mr Polastri plays squash every Thursday with a few of his colleagues at half six, and if this is when he played squash on this specific Thursday then that would give enough time for one very quick game before showering and changing into a suit, making his way across the city to Benares, and enjoying a two course meal and a bottle of wine before ten to nine.”

Silence follows her argument, and Villanelle revels in it. A glance at the judge shows her staring at Raymond, a glance at Raymond shows him staring at his files, and a glance at Eve shows her staring right back at Villanelle, corner of her lip snug between her teeth. 

Villanelle takes in a quick breath at the sight of a clearly aroused Eve. 

_ Jesus Eve, make it less obvious for the court _ , Villanelle thinks with a quick and slightly reprimanding smile in the woman’s direction. 

She only half means it. 

When she looks back at Raymond he’s grumbling under his breath, head leaning toward Niko who looks positively pissed. 

It really is delightful.

“So,” Villanelle continues, “I’d put that as the game finishing at seven fifteen, fast shower and change by seven thirty, a walk and a twenty minute tube ride and another walk to arrive at the restaurant by roughly quarter past eight? And then the two course meal lasting only twenty five minutes. Not impossible of course, but incredibly unlikely in a fine dining establishment like Benares. Plus, why rush the meal? If it was just a casual meal with a friend or coworker, my client would not have minded Mr Polastri returning late after a meal post-squash game.”

Villanelle shrugs once and starts crossing the floor slowly. 

“Rushing home could indicate someone trying to keep to a schedule, which fits with my client having no idea that Mr Polastri was out for food after his squash game. Or, as it seems likely considering the timeline,  _ instead _ of his squash game. Why the rush? Why the secrecy?”

A sharp clap breaks the silence, followed by another, and another until it’s a slow clap echoing from somewhere in the gallery. Villanelle turns to stare in amusement. 

“Who is doing that?” The judge barks, exasperated. 

The clapping stops. 

“This is not television, people, my god.” Judge Reed announces, throwing her hands up. “If I find out who that was then I will hold you in contempt.”

Villanelle looks quickly at Eve who has her hand clasped over her mouth, eyes closed as she clearly tries not to laugh. Villanelle rolls her eyes fondly as she turns back to the judge. 

“Can I…?” 

“Yes,” the judge says, adjusting her glasses and scanning the room with a frown, “continue, counsel.”

“Thank you, your honour.” Villanelle nods and steps back into the centre of the floor. “Now, it is fairly clear that Mr Polastri did not play squash that night, but if Mr Smith was to object that…” she waits, darts her eyes to the man in question who says nothing while staring straight ahead and not looking at Villanelle, “then we have more evidence to back this claim. As was mentioned before, my client had her doubts about Mr Polastri’s whereabouts that night after finding the receipt and the bra in their bedroom. She made a trip to Monsoon Sports Centre to enquire whether or not Mr Polastri had played that night.”

“Objection,” Raymond calls, standing up. 

“On  _ what _ grounds?” The judge snaps. 

Raymond’s mouth works silently for a moment. 

“Relevance?”

Judge Reed sighs and rubs at her temple. 

“Are you saying? Or asking?”

“Saying?” Raymond sounds unsure. 

“Overruled. Judging by the actual premise of this case, counsel, this does seem relevant. Ms Astankova, please continue.”

Villanelle spins on her designer heels to face Niko, smiling at him as she speaks. 

“Mr Polastri has been telling my client that he has been playing squash every Thursday for the last year and a half, including a few nights away to compete in tournaments further from home. So imagine her surprise when she went to the sports centre in question and asked the receptionist about a competition Mr Polastri claims to have placed second in. The receptionist told my client that no Mr Niko Polastri placed anywhere in the competition. She also told my client that the competition on the dates in question didn’t exist. She also told my client that no Niko Polastri showed up on her list of members, and never had.”

When several gasps float up from the gallery, Villanelle can’t help but laugh. She looks up at the judge who simply drops her forehead into one hand, shaking her head. 

“As I was saying,” she continues, still smiling, “Mr Polastri is not and was never a member of the sports centre he claimed to frequent every Thursday. These records are easy to get with a warrant, if Mr Smith would like to argue this.”

The idiot stays quiet. 

Villanelle smiles at him warmly. 

“To summarise: the prenup states my client gets £250,000 should Mr Polastri commit adultery. As I have proven with the bra found beneath the wardrobe that does not belong to my client, the receipt to an expensive restaurant in the suit trousers of Mr Polastri, the so-claimed squash games every Thursday at a gym where membership lists show no record of a Mr Polastri existing, and therefore the hundreds of hours missing where Mr Polastri was who knows where… all of these things can seem circumstantial on their own, but together, your honour, they add up to a likely case of adultery. Therefore, we ought it reasonable that Mr Polastri has committed adultery and therefore owes my client indemnities worth £250,000.” Villanelle lets out a breath and turns to smile at the judge. “That’s all, I’m done.”

It’s quiet for a few moments as Villanelle walks back to the table where Eve is sat, watching her, fiddling with the sleeve cuff of her blazer absentmindedly. She stands nearby and gives Eve a confident smile. When she looks back up at the judge, the woman is scanning something in front of her. She checks her watch. 

“Counsel,” Judge Reed directs the question at Villanelle, “is there anything else you’d like to share with the court?”

“No, your honour.”

“Fine. Approach the bench.”

Villanelle’s confused frown is soft but she does as she’s told. 

“You too, Mr Smith.”

A chair scraping and heavy footsteps indicate Raymond walking too. 

Once they reach the bench they look at each other, Villanelle somewhat smug and Raymond clearly fuming. 

“Counsels, today’s hearing has lasted an hour and a half, and already it feels like I have lost a week of my life.” The judge says tiredly. “When we reconvene tomorrow I ask that you, Ms Astankova, please tone down the theatrics; this is not Legally Blonde.”

“I love that movie.” Villanelle mumbles. 

“Everyone loves that movie,” the judge says, clearly irritated at the interruption, “it’s a classic. And you, Mr Smith, I ask that you please raise proper objections and stop trying to mislead the court.”

“Mislead the court?” Raymond sputters. “I-”

“She could have planted the bra? Really? You have been in this business for a long time, counsel, you should know better. You both should.” 

Judge Reed gives them a look that should be reserved for scolding children only. 

“Play nicely with each other.” She says darkly. “I’m going to call it a day, you may step back.”

As Villanelle and Raymond make their way back to their tables and sit down, the sound of a pen hitting wood repeatedly breaks up the quiet. 

“Alright. Court adjourned until 9am tomorrow morning. Dismissed.”

Villanelle both hears and feels Eve let out a sigh of relief next to her. 

“You did it.” Villanelle says with a smile at Eve as she gathers up her papers. “That’s part of it done.”

“Holy shit that was dramatic.”

“Yes, the people in the gallery certainly added… something.” Villanelle chuckles. 

“I cannot believe Bill and Keiko came,” Eve mumbles, “and fucking  _ Gemma _ .”

“Gemma is here?” Villanelle blurts in shock, immediately craning her neck around to stare. “Where?”

“Far left corner,” Eve says, “long brown hair, massive tits.”

“Oh,  _ her _ .” Villanelle’s eyes dance over the other woman who is standing, gazing fretfully towards Niko’s table. “Jesus, does she want to make it anymore obvious?”

“I know right,” Eve laughs humorlessly, “she’s constantly almost drooling when she’s around him.”

“Ew.” Villanelle whispers. She turns back and slides her things into her briefcase, clicking it shut. “Are you ready to go? We can head back to the office and then you can make your way to Bill’s. Unless you want to get a ride with him now?”

“Ugh, I wish we could just go to yours. It’s been five weeks since we’ve been able to just relax.” Eve groans softly. “I just want to… exist with you, or something, I don’t know.”

“I want that too,” Villanelle murmurs just audibly, “but tonight is absolutely not the night for that.”

“I know, I know.” Eve sighs. She glances at Villanelle, looks her up and down. “God you look fantastic.”

“Oh, yeah, Eve,” Villanelle suddenly remembers, “can you try and tone down the ‘fuck me’ eyes while we are in court? You’re not helping your case. You looked like you were about to jump the table and mount me.”

“I can’t help it!” Eve’s whisper is high pitched. “You look ruthless.”

“I  _ am _ ruthless.”

“I know, and it isn’t helping.”

“I can’t act like I’m not as good as I am to calm your libido, Eve,” Villanelle whispers, trying not to laugh, “control yourself.”

“Ruthless.” Eve groans again and drops her head back, staring at the ceiling as Villanelle’s shoulders shake.

——

Villanelle makes herself a salad for dinner because it’s July or something and that’s what people eat in July. It’s crisp and fresh and sprinkled with pomegranate seeds and it is altogether very wholesome and very boring.

And god is she bored. 

It is never usually like this after a hearing. Usually she is buzzing with leftover confidence and unable to sit still. Usually she is out at this point, burning energy in a bar with a woman she’s made eyes at and tempted over.

She does not want to be in a bar with a woman.

Well, no. She would like to be in a bar with Eve.

But they can’t. Because of the law. And Raymond. 

“Lame.” Villanelle mutters under her breath as she finishes her wholesome and boring food.

She opts to do the dishes by hand, then dries them methodically and puts them away. Then she scrubs the counters clean. And rearranges the contents of her fridge. Takes everything out of the fridge, cleans the fridge, then puts it all back in the fridge. Sweeps the floor. Mops the floor. Thinks about getting a cat. Maybe a guinea pig? One of those super fluffy ones! She gets her laptop and starts looking up guinea pigs in nearby shelters. 

Then she realises she’s looking up guinea pigs in nearby shelters. 

The boredom is bordering on dangerous. 

But almost two hours have passed and her kitchen is sparkling, so Villanelle chalks the evening up as a success and heads to the bathroom, leaving thoughts of a guinea pig that she has definitely  _ not _ already named Genevieve behind.

She pours cedar wood and amber scented liquid under the hot running water, breathing in the luxurious scent as bubbles start to form and rise on the steaming water. She lights a few candles and grabs her iPad, balancing it on the sink and putting on a lo-fi playlist before stepping into the swirling depths of the bath and sinking down.

Villanelle is quiet for a while, simply enjoying the feel of hot water, allowing the steam to curl the soft hairs at her neck and temples as she falls into a blissed out state of peace. A gentle, synthetic beat has her eyes slipping shut as she slides further into the water and out of her head. 

Five minutes later, her phone buzzes. 

“Oh thank god,” Villanelle murmurs, “that was so dull.”

She reaches over the bath and grabs her phone, immediately disappointed when she sees that it’s only Konstantin who has texted her. 

_ Konstantin: How did it go today? _

Villanelle: Fine, obviously. Wiped the floor with him.

_ Konstantin: Good. I hear you were reprimanded for being dramatic? _

She rolls her eyes. 

Villanelle: I was being enthusiastic about the case, there is a difference.

_ Konstantin: You are a very good lawyer, you know better than to talk about Legally Blonde with the judge. _

Villanelle: It is a brilliant movie!!

_ Konstantin: Obviously, it is a classic. But do not be naughty again, do you want someone to file a complaint with the board? _

Villanelle: Pssh, it’s fine. Also, I am a ‘very good lawyer’, stop calling me naughty, it is weird.

_ Konstantin: You are weird. Please behave. _

Villanelle: Okay goodbye now

She ignores his reply and opens up Instagram, scrolling through fashion and interior design posts. Does Eve have Instagram? What would she post? Probably pictures of Aubrey, and photos of her and Bill having fun. Maybe failed cooking attempts? 

Maybe she doesn’t have time for Instagram, so busy writing stories and doing interviews and other journalisty things.

Villanelle smiles to herself, imagining Eve in her loose shirts rushing around with too many bags. One by one Villanelle will replace those bags, she is determined. 

Her fingers open the message thread with Eve on their own.

Villanelle: Have you calmed down yet?

Eve does not reply straight away so Villanelle drops her phone and tries to relax, tries to switch her mind off from thoughts of Eve in that blue suit, looking at Villanelle from across the courtroom, eyes darker than their usual chocolate brown and lip tight between her teeth and-

Her phone buzzes. 

_ Eve: I’m not sure I will ever calm down after seeing that suit. I’m done for. Ruined. RIP.  _

With a grin, Villanelle settles further into the bath, head resting back against the lip of the tub. 

Villanelle: Just wait until you see what I’m wearing tomorrow…

_ Eve: Oh good lord _ . 

Villanelle chuckles. She blows some bubbles off her wrist. 

_ Eve: So what are you doing this evening? What does a solicitor do post-hearing? _

Villanelle: Well, to be honest, the old me would have picked someone up in a bar by now.

There’s a pause before a reply comes through. 

_ Eve: and the ‘new’ you? _

Villanelle: The new me is sitting in the bath thinking about you. 

Her phone buzzes in her hand with an incoming call. 

“You’re on your personal phone, right?” Eve’s voice asks. It softens Villanelle more than a bath ever could. 

“You called, Eve.” She chuckles. “You tell me.”

“Okay so it’s your personal phone. Okay.”

“I’m not going to text you from the bath from my work phone, am I.” Villanelle says. “What with Raymond’s fun accusation.”

“No, I know.” Eve sighs. “I’m just paranoid.”

“Do not worry.” She tries to put as much confidence into her voice as she can fit Eve. “If Raymond was going to use phone calls and texts as evidence he would have had to file for a warrant to our phone records for evidence, and he didn’t. He legally cannot use any calls or texts as evidence in court. Okay?”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes really.”

“Huh.” Eve says thoughtfully. “I thought that was just for, like, houses and cars.”

“Anything private requires a warrant to search.”

“Oh.” Eve says, and then “wait, you’re in the bath?”

“Yes,” Villanelle lifts her hand out of the water and lets the droplets trickle from her fingertips, “trying to relax.”

“Should I call back later?”

“No,” Villanelle pouts, “talk to me now, your voice is nice.”

“You like my voice?”

“Mm,” Villanelle hums, “it is smooth.”

“Okay,” Eve chuckles softly, “what do you want me to talk about?”

Villanelle smiles. 

“Your day.” 

“I was with you all day.” Eve laughs. “Nothing new to report. Got back to Bill’s, we had dinner, watched a movie, and now I’m in bed.”

“Already?”

“Early start tomorrow.”

Swirling her fingers through the water, Villanelle hums again. 

“Hm, nothing new.” Villanelle agrees. “Okay. Instead, tell me what you are wearing?

A low laugh sounds over the phone, making Villanelle shift a little.

“Okay, I’ll play along.” Eve purrs, voice like silk. “I’m wearing some very, very sexy blue panties from Primark.”

“Madre de dios...” Villanelle grimaces with a laugh.

“Uh huh, they have little flowers on them but they’ve faded from being washed too many times.”

“Oof, this is really doing it for me.” Villanelle says through a smile. “How much were they?”

“Part of a five pack for two pounds fifty.”

Villanelle chuckles through a moan. 

“You really know how to get a girl going.”

“I’m also wearing your t-shirt, the striped pink one.”

Villanelle pauses. 

“The one you wore after we first…”

“Yeah,” Eve sighs, “I hung onto it after that night. Oops.”

“Thief,” Villanelle murmurs happily, and she shifts again, thighs softly rubbing together as she thinks of Eve in  _ her _ shirt. “I like that you are wearing my clothes.”

“Oh yeah?” 

“Mm, it makes me… hot, thinking of you lying there in my things.”

Eve hums quietly, and Villanelle hears sheets rustle over the line. 

“So you wouldn’t like it if I took it off, then.”

Villanelle’s breath hitches as Eve’s words hit softly between her thighs. 

“No, no, you can take it off.” 

“You know, I think I’ll keep it on.” Eve says casually. “But the panties can go.” More rustling sheets, and then “that’s better.”

“Eve,” Villanelle sighs, thighs tightly pressed together as her free hand drifts to her breast, “do you want to-”

“Are we not already?” Eve murmurs. “Tell me what you’re doing.”

Villanelle’s breath leaves her in a rush at the command and her fingers trace circles around her nipple. 

“Touching my tits, wishing it was you.”

The groan Villanelle hears is controlled, but barely. 

“Be rough.”

When she pinches the hardened peak between her fingers she grunts, hips bucking once, water sloshing gently against the sides of the tub. 

“You like being bossy,” Villanelle breathes out with a soft moan, “why is that?”

Eve’s sigh is low and long, ragged with arousal that has Villanelle’s thighs pressing even tighter. 

“I don’t know. Something about seeing you so in control and knowing I can have a  _ kind _ of control over you? It turns me on.”

“You don’t have any control over me, Eve.” Villanelle husks. 

“Don’t I? Touch yourself.”

Villanelle’s head tips back with a whimper when her fingers touch her clit under the water, already hot and swollen. Eve hums. 

“Good girl.”

That gets Villanelle’s fingers moving, sliding across her clit with ease thanks to the water and her own slick arousal. She moans in relief at the firm strokes. 

“You were so amazing today,” Eve tells her around a gasp, the rustling of sheets now a rhythmic backing track to Eve’s scratched voice, “watching you in your element, confident and powerful… fuck. You looked so good.”

“Say more,” Villanelle whines, fingertips circling tightly, “please, Eve.”

Eve’s chuckle is broken by a bitten off moan. 

“I swear to god, half the time I had no idea what you were saying and it only made it hotter. I wanted to get up, push you against a wall and let you take me in the middle of the courtroom.” Eve pauses to gasp. “I wanted you so badly.”

“I could tell.” Villanelle manages to joke breathlessly, and Eve laughs once. 

“Watching you command that room made me so wet, Villanelle.”

Her fingers can’t work fast enough, can’t press hard enough. She bucks into her hand and fuck the water spilling over the side of the bath, fuck it, because Eve’s words are honey in her ears and honey between her thighs and-

“God I wish the three fingers inside me right now were yours.”

The visual alone almost has Villanelle coming, another bolt to her clit and she dips her fingers down and presses inside once, twice, before creating a rhythm and pushing hard and fast to the tune of Eve’s panting breaths. 

“I want to be inside you.” Villanelle says desperately. “I want you here, I want to fuck you with my fingers and my mouth until you can’t think of anything else, until you don’t want to think of anything else. I want you here so I can fuck you and love you-”

“Baby,” Eve moans high and thin, “ _ yes _ .”

Villanelle drags her fingers out and back to her clit, furiously rubbing and rubbing and-

“Eve, Eve.”

It builds like a wave.

“I’m coming, Oksana, I’m-”

As Eve trails off into a gasping moan, the wave crests at Villanelle’s core. It’s powerful, so powerful it hurts but it’s perfect, it’s perfect, the warm liquid silk gushing across her fingers so easy to differentiate from the water now furious around her, making its own waves as her orgasm casts her out to sea. 

She comes down to the sound of Eve breathing fast and shallow, trying to catch her breath. Villanelle finally stills, waiting for the waves to do the same. 

“Holy shit,” Eve mumbles tiredly, “why haven’t we done that before?”

“Because we’re in the middle of your divorce case.” Villanelle supplies breathlessly. 

“Oh, right, that.” Eve says. “Fair enough.”

Villanelle chuckles softly, then reaches lazily to pull the plug. Water spirals the drain as she talks to Eve. 

“Do you think Bill heard you?”

There’s the sound of a smack, and Villanelle giggles as she imagines Eve’s palm connecting with her forehead. 

“Oh fuck,” Eve groans unhappily, “god I hope not or I will  _ not _ hear the end of it.” 

“And in his spare bed, Eve,” Villanelle tuts playfully, “you are bad.”

“He probably didn’t-” Eve pauses, then Villanelle hears another groan, slightly further away. “He just texted me. ‘Did you have fun?’ Oh for christ’s sake.”

Villanelle laughs as she stands, stretching until her spine pops pleasantly. 

“You’re in trouble.”

“Yeah, god I can hear Keiko laughing from two rooms away, fantastic. I’m gonna have to go deal with this.”

“Good luck,” Villanelle chuckles, fiddling with the shower curtain, “I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not,” Eve sighs, but it’s fond, said through a smile, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Villanelle says, “we have a case to win.”

“We have a case to win.” Eve repeats softly. “Goodnight, Villanelle. And, um… I love you.”

Another wave, this time of a different kind of warmth. 

“I love you too, Eve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway after completing this fic I will be a fully qualified lawyer I guess (I won’t, real lawyers you are amazing).
> 
> Also, thank you so much to everyone who leaves comments and kudos and who tweets me nice things about my fics. The kindness is appreciated more than you know! Some people can be mean, but you guys remain great.


	27. Concise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a long boi

According to Villanelle, there is a rule of three when it comes to court hearings and their arguments. 

Three points made, three points argued, three points hammered into those that are required to listen to them. 

Three points for each solicitor to win their case. 

Villanelle tells Eve that it might help her stay calm if she notes each point as they happen. 

Eve gets ready to count. 

——

Villanelle lied. 

Court is exactly like it is in TV and movies. 

At least… this case is. 

Granted, it would have been considerably less dramatic had it not been for Bill and Keiko turning it into a soap opera, but still. Villanelle’s theatrics created the drama effect all on their own. Very sexy.

She sits now, next to Eve as the judge settles behind the big wooden podium, wearing yet another suit that Eve would have liked to have been consulted on beforehand. Not because she’d tell Villanelle she couldn’t wear it, god no, but so that Eve could have time to prepare for the visual. 

Because  _ good lord _ . 

Today’s suit is sleek and striped in blue and black, the stiff shouldered blazer over a black high neck blouse, while the slim cropped trousers end to show bare ankles disappearing into shiny black leather loafers. 

All in all it’s startlingly attractive and Eve really could have done with knowing so that she could’ve… girded her loins, or something. 

Eve’s own outfit is the product of herself and Keiko at 8am that morning, Eve freaking out about how it had to be smart because she’s going on the stand while Keiko insisted it needed to be casual to make her seem more personable. They settled on a soft cream shirt tucked into a slightly darker beige pair of trousers, and finished it with dark brown lace up shoes and a pair of big gold earrings just because. Eve feels comfortable and cool, and if she tries hard enough she can pretend to feel confident too. 

Eve finds it easier to focus on the outfits than she does on the Judge, who is now talking in her stern voice and commanding the room, reminding them that they’re back after yesterday as if they all  _ need _ the reminder. She just wants to get this over and done with and get divorced, she doesn’t care about any of this. 

Except she does care about it, she really does, she’s just… very fucking nervous. 

She refocuses to see the judge speaking quietly to the bailiff. 

“Hey.” Villanelle whispers. 

Eve turns her head to look at the blonde. 

“You look beautiful.” Villanelle breathes, small smile quirking the corner of her lips. “I know I already said it before but you really do.”

“Oh,” Eve feels her cheeks warm a little, “thank you.”

“No seriously,” Villanelle continues, “maybe I will be the one doing the inappropriate staring today, hm?”

Eve chuckles softly. 

“Please don’t, I want to win this.”

“Spoilsport.” Villanelle murmurs with a wider smile. 

The judge clears her throat. 

“Mr Smith, you have the floor.”

Eve tries to contain the wave of anxiety. 

She watches Raymond stand but he stays behind the table. Eve takes a quick glance at Villanelle to find her frowning softly in confusion. 

“Your honour, before we begin I would like to address the court.”

“Oh boy.” Eve hears Villanelle mutter under her breath. 

The anxiety tightens its hold. 

“Last night a witness came forward,” Raymond says, hands folded in front of him, “and we ought it in everyone’s best interest to hear what this witness has to say.”

The table thumps as Villanelle slaps both hands onto its surface. 

“ _ What _ ?” She says loudly, standing abruptly. 

“They can shed light on our current case.” Raymond supplies with a small shrug, not looking at Villanelle but straight ahead at the judge. 

“Counsels, approach the bench. Do you need a minute to confer?”

“What’s happening?” Eve says quickly as Villanelle fully straightens. “Vil, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Villanelle says quietly, tugging her blazer to sit neatly against her front while sparing a glance at Eve, “it's- just… hold on.”

And then she’s walking away from the table, leaving Eve to stare after her. 

She tries her best to school her features into something calm and collected but she’s never been good at that, never good at hiding behind stony facial expressions. She’s a canvas of anger and joy and sadness and intrigue, she doesn’t know how to be blank. 

A quiet scoff has her turning her head to the right, and there’s Niko, staring back at her, infuriating smirk on his lips under that moustache that somehow,  _ somehow _ , she used to find handsome. Jesus.

Eve throws him a look that, after over a decade of marriage, he  _ knows _ means ‘what the fuck?’ but he simply continues to smirk before slowly looking forward again. 

Raymond and Villanelle are in a hushed and heated debate by the podium while the judge listens. Villanelle is gesturing a lot and Raymond has his arms folded, still looking every bit the smug asshole that he is as Villanelle looks to be getting more and more wound up. 

The judge interjects with a strong look and some murmured words and Eve almost smiles at the huff Villanelle lets out, audible from her seat at the table, but she doesn’t smile, obviously, because if Villanelle is rattled then something  _ terrible is happening _ . 

Eve replays the words.

A witness came forward. 

What witness? And a witness to what, exactly? The only evidence Raymond submitted was the overheard conversation between Eve and Bill, and unless Bill was about to step up and reveal himself as the biggest traitor of all fucking time, Eve is at a total loss for who it might be. 

A stranger in the pub, somehow tracked down and convinced to take part in this? The clerk that saw Eve at Villanelle’s front door? 

The blanks Eve continues to draw are only fuelling the panic that swells in her chest, and then Villanelle is walking back to her, face like thunder and eyes a storm. 

“There will now be an hour recess.” Judge Reed calls. “Court will reconvene at ten am.”

Murmuring erupts at the back of the room as Villanelle sits next to her, shoulders rigid with tension. 

“What the hell is going on?” Eve murmurs, strained. “A surprise witness? Are they allowed to do that?”

“Mm,” Villanelle grumbles, flipping through a file, “it is sneaky but perfectly acceptable.” Villanelle looks at Eve then and must see the light sheen of anxiety surely making her skin look sallow. “It’s Gemma, by the way. Their witness.”

Gemma. 

Her vision tunnels, edges going dark. Eve blinks hard and swallows, a hand curling into the edge of the table in a useless attempt to steady herself. Villanelle sees this and her eyes scan Eve, concern evident in her warm hazel stare. 

“Hey, don’t panic.”

Eve rears back. 

“Don’t panic?” She whispers shakily, voice rising in pitch. “Villanelle, they’re calling Gemma to the stand, she’s going to deny everything! She’s going to make me look like a crazy, scorned wife! Besides, you don’t exactly seem calm?” 

“Oh, this is just an act.”

Villanelle is back to angrily flipping through her files, and Eve can only watch in confusion. 

“What?” She eventually gets out. 

“Mm, this is all pretend,” Villanelle explains in a calm voice that completely contradicts her frustrated expression, “I’m letting Raymond believe he has got to me. The cockier he is feeling, the better; it makes him lazy.”

An army of thoughts assaults Eve and not one of them makes sense. 

“Again, what?”

Villanelle stops shuffling papers and looks at Eve instead. 

“He thinks he has the upper hand here and I want it to stay that way, for now.” Villanelle explains. “I don’t want him to feel like he has to work extra hard to stump me. If I let him believe I’m panicking at this surprise witness then it will lull him into a false sense of security I can use.”

“Oh,” Eve says, panic subsiding a little for now, mostly due to the confusion trying to take its place, “so… you’re not worried?”

Villanelle gives her a quick smile. 

“Of course not. Look, you know Gemma, yes? What is it you described her as to me once?” Villanelle waves a hand around. “An ‘idiot’?”

“Well yeah,” Eve shrugs a shoulder, “she  _ is _ an idiot.”

“Exactly. So no, I am not worried. She looks like someone easy to question, judging by how watery eyed she was yesterday.”

“Easy?”

“Yes, I think she might crack under pressure. And if she doesn’t, then I imagine her emotions may give her away at least a little. They are making a mistake calling her to the stand, but I am not going to let them know that.”

Eve takes in the woman before her, in all of her confident goodness, and lets herself sigh softly in relief. 

“God you’re brilliant.”

“I know.” Villanelle smirks. “Now, we have an hour to pretend to panic. Is there anything you can tell me that I can use when I question her?”

Raymond’s opening argument is painful. 

“My client is a good man. He never wanted for much, content with his life goals of happiness centred around a job, a home, and a woman he loved. My client is a hard working man. He created his own business from nothing and built it up into the powerhouse publishing company it is today. My client is a kind man. He would ensure he was back from his gruelling job at a decent time every single day to spend time with his wife who he loved, adored, and wanted nothing more than to make her happy in any way he could. He is a good and loving husband, he would cook meals for his wife nightly, plan dates, come up with fun and exciting trips for them to take, would forgive her again and again and again when she was late or unappreciative-”

“Jesus, this is boring.” Villanelle mumbles in Eve’s ear as Raymond droned on. 

“And bullshit.” Eve whispers. 

She tries to keep her tone amused to cover the hurt she’s feeling from Raymond’s lies,  _ Niko’s _ lies, but maybe it’s the twitch in her hand resting on the table or the way she can’t look at the man that gives her away to Villanelle. 

The blonde dips her head to catch Eve’s eyes. 

She must find something in them because she lifts an eyebrow. 

“Then let’s put an end to it.” Villanelle murmurs. 

The chair scrapes back as Villanelle stands, calm and cool and abruptly halting Raymond’s spiel. 

“Objection,” Villanelle calls, “hearsay. What evidence is there that proves any of this beyond words from Mr Polastri’s mouth? I could stand and tell you all manner of stories from my client’s point of view if I thought it useful to the case at hand, but it would just be her word against his, which is exactly what Mr Smith is doing right now.” Villanelle shrugs one shoulder lazily. “This isn’t evidence, your honour, it is just time consuming and telling tales, and I am getting bored of story time.”

Villanelle sits without another word, arms folded as she stares up at the judge, completely relaxed. 

“Sustained.” The judge says. “Mr Smith, stick to character defence and facts, please.” She peers down at the stenographer tapping on his stenotype. “Strike that from the record.”

Eve glances across in time to see Raymond purse his lips angrily, sweeping back towards his table. 

Is this all he has? Beyond questioning Eve and Gemma, is their only argument Niko’s word against Eve?

The panic that had refused to quit its infernal swirling in her stomach starts to settle at that thought, still there but softer, a boil turned down to a simmer. 

Villanelle gives her shoulder a gentle nudge, and Eve looks to see Villanelle shuffling through her papers, a barely contained victorious smirk on her lips. 

“I intend to prove,” Raymond’s sudden loud voice startles Eve, and she jumps in her seat, “that Mrs Polastri committed adultery, rather than the other way around. I intend to prove that my client is a decent man, incapable of such an act, whereas Mrs Polastri, during her stay away from the marital home, was fully capable of embarking on an extramarital relationship.”

A loud scoff sounds from the back of the room.

The judge glares.

Seems like Eve’s thorough telling off of Bill last night didn’t help. She’s secretly glad. 

The judge waves a weary hand at Raymond to continue. 

“I intend to prove that my client is innocent of the accusations made against him.” Raymond finishes. “And with that, I call my first witness, Ms Gemma Pierson, to the stand.”

Eve glances over her shoulder to watch Gemma rise dramatically and tearfully from the gallery, but is startled once again when a door near their table opens. She jerks her head around to look and Gemma enters from there, the bailiff leading her up and behind the stand by the judge. 

“Has she been back there the whole time?” Eve murmurs.”

“Of course,” Villanelle says quietly, “where else would she be?”

Eve makes the decision to rewatch all of the court based shows and movies with Villanelle and get her to point out the inaccuracies, because at this point Eve is feeling well and truly lied to. 

The bailiff clears his throat. 

“Do you solemnly and sincerely and truly declare and affirm that the evidence you shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

Eve can see Gemma’s throat constrict with a hard swallow all the way from her table. 

“I do.” Comes the brunette’s high pitched voice, and Eve is stunned that this woman has the gall to stare at Niko while she says it.

“This might be easier than I thought.” Villanelle says under her breath. Eve turns to her and catches her smirking softly. Villanelle winks, then looks towards the stand. “Oh, Gemma. We are going to have some fun.”

——

“Ms Pierson, thank you for taking time out of your schedule to join us today, I hope the workload won’t be too difficult to manage once you get back. You head the children’s book department at Bridge Publishing, is that right?”

Jesus, okay, so Raymond is clearly trying to make Gemma seem like some kind of sweet little lady.

“I do, yes,” Gemma smiles, and it’s so strained it’s almost laughable, “I publish books aimed at children, specifically educational fiction.”

“That’s lovely, Ms Pierson,” Raymond drawls, “well, thank you again for your time. Now, can you tell me how you know my client here, Mr Polastri?”

“Nik- Mr Polastri is my boss at Bridge Publishings.” 

“It’s alright,” Raymond chuckles, “you can call him Niko. Is that what he goes by at work?”

“Oh, yes,” Gemma nods enthusiastically, “everyone calls him Niko, it wouldn’t feel right to call him Mr Polastri.”

“And why is that?”

“Well, because he’s Niko,” Gemma says with a soft shrug, “he’s more like our friend than our boss. Always up for a chat or a laugh or an ear, if you need it. He has an open door policy at the office. We’re more like one big family than some… corporation.”

“That sounds incredibly wholesome.” Raymond smiles at her. “A truly special place to work, and for such a caring boss, too.”

“Is that true?” Villanelle leans towards Eve and whispers. 

Eve scoffs. 

“For the ones that make him money, sure.” Eve replies quietly. “God knows about the rest, I’ve not been invited to one of their business Christmas parties for five years.”

“Now, you and my client have been friends as well as coworkers for a while now, is that right?”

“Yes, Niko and I have similar interests and get on rather well.”

“That’s wonderful!” Raymond says joyfully, throwing out his arms. “ _ Anyone _ would be delighted to have that kind of friendship with a boss. What interests do you share?”

“We love books, tennis, cooking-”

“Do you think she’ll mention her tits? I bet that’s a shared interest.” Villanelle mutters to Eve who has to hold a hand over her mouth to keep in her snicker. 

“Brilliant,” Raymond says, casually, “he sounds like a good guy.”

“He is.” Gemma says with a smile. “A good boss, and a good friend, too.”

Eve is going to get a migraine from the sheer amount of strain it requires not to roll her eyes. 

“Now, sorry to turn our conversation to a more somber subject, but you of course know why you are here today.”

Gemma looks down at her lap where her hands are undoubtedly fiddling with her floral dress. 

“Yes, I do.”

“Mm,” Raymond hums with a faux sadness, “Ms Pierson, I understand that you are here to elaborate on your intrapersonal relationship with Mr Polastri?”

“Yes.” Gemma nods, subdued. 

“Good lord.” Eve mumbles at the performance. 

“The opposing party believes that you and Mr Polastri are having an affair, and have been doing so for the past year and a half. So, the clear question here is… are you having an affair with Mr Polastri?”

Gemma leans forward slightly.

“No.”

Raymond nods.

“Of course. Ms Pierson, do you spend a lot of time at the Polastri household?”

“I wouldn’t say a lot of time,” Gemma frowns softly in thought, “once, twice a month, maybe?”

“And is Mrs Polastri ever present?”

“Oh, no, she isn’t often there in the evenings.”

“Ah,” Raymond says, nodding seriously, “I see. Do you know where she is?”

“At work,” Gemma tells him, “always at work, she was barely around because she was always at her office.”

“Hm, doesn’t sound like the behaviour of a devoted wife…”

Eve feels Villanelle shift beside her, and looks over to see the blonde jotting something down in her notebook. Eve peers at it but the writing is slanted and hasty, difficult to read, though she manages to pick out ‘bad partner?’ amongst the scrawl. 

“Ms Pierson,” he smiles at the brunette, “do you like Mrs Polastri?”

“Oh, well, yes, she’s nice.”

“Nice?”

“Yes, she’s never been anything but polite to me when we’ve spoken. She smiles, engages in conversation, yeah, she’s nice.”

“Nice.” Raymond says again. “Alright. And what about towards Mr Polastri?”

“Well I haven’t seen them interact an awful lot.”

“Odd. But when you have seen it? Is Mrs Polastri kind?”

“She’s polite.”

“Just  _ polite _ ?” Raymond pulls a ridiculously confused face. “What is polite about her behaviour?”

“She says hello, asks him about his day, that sort of thing. She’s usually pretty short with him, doesn’t say too much.”

“Hm.” Raymond says. “Does she never join you and Mr Polastri, when you visit?”

“Oh no,” Gemma shakes her head, “no, normally she heads upstairs to her home office, she doesn’t seem interested in hanging out, just the three of us.”

“Any idea why that might be?”

“None at all,” Gemma says sadly, “it’s a shame really. I think Eve and I could be really good friends.”

“No thank you.” Eve mutters, gaining a soft huff of silent laughter from Villanelle.

Raymond is quiet for a few moments as in deep in thought, but Eve is becoming pretty good at spotting the telltale signs of court dramatics. 

“Is there anything you can think of that might give anyone the impression you and Mr Polastri are more than friends?”

There we go. Raymond’s killer question. 

“I don’t think so,” Gemma says, her voice sure, clearly prepped beforehand for the question. “Maybe any kind of friendly affection could be considered something  _ more _ if you’re looking for it because of your own personal issues with your relationship.”

Villanelle starts scribbling again, and chuckles under her breath. 

“Indeed.” Raymond nods. “Indeed. Thank you, Ms Pierson. No further questions, your honour.”

——

Villanelle looks fantastic, striding up to Gemma in the witness stand, confidence rolling off her in waves to create the most perfect intimidating atmosphere. 

Gemma looks nervous as she approaches, and Eve bites her lip as she waits for it to begin. 

“Hello Ms Pierson, how are you today?”

“I’m… fine.” Gemma stutters a little, looking somewhat perplexed at the question. “How are… you?”

“Oh, I’m good, thank you for asking.” Eve sees Villanelle smile something predatory. 

“So, Ms Pierson, you are friends with Mr Polastri.”

“Yes.”

“How nice. As Mr Smith said, it must be nice to have a relationship like that with your boss.”

“Um… yes, it is.” 

“Quite unusual to have that kind friendship with your boss, too. I do not know many people who can boast that, so you must be lucky.”

“I suppose so?” Gemma is trying to school the unsure expression on her face and failing. 

“Mm.” Villanelle hums politely. “And you are a publisher, yes? Children’s books?”

“Yes, I am.”

“That must be so rewarding!” Villanelle smiles. “Do you like your job?”

“Oh, I love it,” Gemma says, looking enthusiastic for the first time since Villanelle rose from her seat, “I can’t imagine having a different job. I love my work and my colleagues, everything about it.”

“That’s so good,” Villanelle grins, “it is so important to love what you do, isn’t it.”

“It really is.”

Villanelle tilts her head to the side, still smiling warmly at Gemma, and Eve watches as the brunette becomes more and more relaxed. 

Eve almost laughs. The poor woman has no idea what Villanelle is capable of. 

“You sound like the kind of person who goes above and beyond for her job. Is that right?”

“Yes.” She nods. “Like I said, I love it. I would do anything required.”

“You would pick up extra work?”

“I already do.” Gemma laughs a little. “And I don’t mind it.”

“You would help coworkers with their own workload?”

“Of course!” Gemma nods. 

“You would stay late if need be?”

“Absolutely,” Gemma smiles, “if I had to.”

“I thought so.” Villanelle says kindly. “Tell me, Ms Pierson. Are you a bad partner?”

The smile slides from Gemma’s face. 

“Sorry, what?”

“Are you a bad partner? Significant other, girlfriend, et cetera.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Well,” Villanelle sighs, walking slowly in front of the stand, to and fro, “earlier, while talking to Mr Smith, it was made out to sound like you feel staying late means someone is not devoted to their partner. Do you agree with this?”

“I...” Gemma trails off, glancing desperately at the men again. 

“Does staying late to work a job you love, something that fills you with passion, automatically make you a bad wife? Does staying late to finish tasks, work overtime, or help a colleague make you less of a loving partner?”

Gemma gapes for a moment. 

“Well… no, it- no, of course not.”

“So, is it safe to say that Mrs Polastri working late at a job she happens to love does not make her any less of a, what were the words… devoted wife?”

The room is deathly silent. 

“No,” Gemma eventually mumbles quietly, “working late… does not make any woman less of a wife.”

Villanelle smiles at Gemma. 

“I agree.” The blonde says simply. 

Eve feels a rush of relief. Three points. One down. 

Villanelle really is brilliant. 

“Ms Pierson, what sort of things do you and Mr Polastri talk about when you hang out?”

“Um… normal things? Work, our friends, TV.”

“Anything else?”

Gemma blinks. 

“Cooking?”

Villanelle chuckles kindly. 

“That’s all?”

“Yes,” Gemma nods, “just… the usual sort of things friends talk about.”

“Oh. You don’t talk about serious things? Like, feelings, the past, the future.”

“Not really,” Gemma says carefully, “no.”

“Okay.” Villanelle nods, walking away from Gemma back towards Eve. She smiles at her briefly as she grabs the notebook she’d been writing in. She turns and heads slowly back to Gemma. “So when you said…” Villanelle scans the page, “quote  _ ‘any kind of friendly affection could be considered something more if you’re looking for it, because of your own personal issues with your relationship’ _ end quote, you were just… assuming that my client had personal issues with her relationship?”

Gemma purses her lips anxiously, realising she’s been caught again. She stays quiet. 

“Or,” Villanelle continues, frowning down at the notebook, “you and Mr Polastri have spoken a little deeper than you previously stated, covering topics such as his and Mrs Polastri’s relationship.”

Gemma still says nothing, avoiding Villanelle’s gaze. 

“So which is it, Ms Pierson? You  _ guessed _ that there are issues between Mr and Mrs Polastri, rendering your statement to Mr Smith as simple hearsay, or you are close enough to Mr Polastri to have spoken about them, going against your ‘usual stuff’ statement from before?”

Eve almost feels sorry for Gemma. 

Almost. 

The woman flounders, eyes flitting from the men to the judge to Villanelle, even landing on Eve at one point with a quick look that can only be classed as regret, somehow, before looking down. 

“He… may have mentioned it… once or twice.”

“It, being…” Villanelle encourages.

“His relationship. Their relationship.”

“Hm. The usual stuff between boss and employee, then.”

Gemma won’t look up from her lap. Villanelle returns the notebook, her eyebrows lifting quickly when she looks at Eve, then she’s heading back to Gemma once more. 

“Ms Pierson, you mentioned earlier that you enjoy cooking?”

Gemma is thoroughly shaken now, it’s clear. Her eyes, when they lift from her lap, move to Raymond and Niko warily, then back to Villanelle. She looks tired, defeated, but she takes a deep breath and straightens up a little. 

“Yes, I love it.”

“Me too. I especially enjoy making French food. What’s your favourite cuisine?”

Villanelle is all smiles again, all casual posture and soft eyes. She’s a master at this, Eve realises for the hundredth time, a master at getting people to stick their hand through the bars of her cage. Or sticking their hand through the bars of their own safety cage, really, straight into the jaws of a shark. 

“Uh… I love Italian.”

Eve’s eyes widen in amusement as Villanelle shimmies her shoulders in excitement. 

“Mm, me too!” She says happily. “What about Indian food?”

Gemma manages a smile, seemingly forgetting that she’s already been bitten by this shark, twice. 

“Yeah, I... I love Indian. It’s amazing.”

“Ugh, so good.” Villanelle practically moans. “Tell me, what did you order at Benares when you ate there with Mr Polastri on March 27th?”

“Oh. I don’t really remember.”

“So it was you that ate with him that night, then.”

Eve’s jaw drops at that, how easily Villanelle managed to coax such crucial information with so little ease. Gemma’s mouth is also open in shock, forming words that don’t take shape until they do.

“Yes.” She says slowly, some feeble attempt at confidence weakly colouring her tone. “But it was a while ago and it was a, a casual dinner, quick, not… not memorable or anything.”

Villanelle raises both eyebrows. 

“Uh huh. Well, we have the receipt, and what was ordered that night was the murg makhani, a delightful butter chicken in spicy tomato and onion sauce, or the equally delicious vegan black dahl. Which dish was yours?”

“The…” Gemma clears her throat gently, “the butter chicken.”

Villanelle grins. 

“Oof, good choice.” She nods. “Ms Pierson, did you know it takes up to an hour to make that dish?”

Gemma says nothing. 

“Requires a lot of slow cooking. Of course, at a place like Benares they do it a little quicker, they make it in about half an hour. They always have someone ready to prep sauces, you see, but they don't just keep a pot of it sitting over the heat. That is not their style.”

“Oh…” Gemma says, pointlessly.

Eve leans back a little in her chair and crosses her legs at the ankles, watching Villanelle work. The grace and confidence with which she moves, the strong cadence of her voice, the way she commands the room.

Eve knows she shouldn’t be turned on but she has literally no control over her body right now. It’s taking everything in her to just… sit still. She knows she should be sitting here scared, trembling with nerves rather than… well. 

Attraction is much easier to deal with than anxiety, so Eve allows herself to dwell on the former. It’s… better. For her mental health. 

Villanelle is pacing slowly again. 

“So you can imagine why I’m confused at your story regarding the casual meal at the very nice and expensive restaurant, where you both ordered food that takes half an hour to create. The kind of food that requires you being there for more than just a short while.” Villanelle stops walking and looks to the side at Gemma. She smiles. 

Playing with her food.

“It does not fit with the timeline of Mr Polastri playing squash at the sports centre, that shows no record of him ever being a member, mind you. So, Ms Pierson, I was wondering if you could tell me if you did in fact eat some kind of… miracle meal, or if Mr Polastri and yourself did not go for a quick and casual dinner, but rather a long dinner, made possible by Mr Polastri not playing squash?”

Holy shit.

Eve stares in disbelief as Gemma goes pale. Niko has his face in his hand when she looks his way, and Raymond is staring down at his files, eyes wide and unseeing.

“I… um…”

Gemma’s wavering voice brings Eve’s gaze back to the front.

The judge leans towards her.

“Bear in mind you are under oath, Ms Pierson.” Judge Reed says carefully.

Eve sees Gemma’s hand shake as it brushes hair away from her face.

“It was- um, I… it…”

Raymond stands up, chair legs banging the wooden floor.

“Objection, she is badgering the witness!”

“Overruled,” Judge Reed says loudly, “sit down Mr Smith. Ms Pierson, please answer the question.”

“I…”

“What time did you get to the restaurant?”

Gemma’s eyes lock onto Raymond, wide and shining, almost afraid.

“I don’t recall.”

“When did you leave?”

Gemma blinks. Definitely afraid.

“I don’t recall.” 

“Ms Pierson,” Villanelle says carefully, “how long did the meal last?”

The shine erupts and dashes her cheeks. Her voice wobbles.

“I don’t recall.”

Villanelle stops. To anyone else, she’d look concerned, but to Eve… Eve can see the gleam of teeth as the shark opens its mouth.

“Are you okay, Ms Pierson?”

Gemma starts to sob.

“I don’t rec-” Her voice catches.

Raymond stands again abruptly, throwing his hands up.

“Your honour, the witness is obviously distressed by this aggressive line of questioning!”

Eve watches as the bailiff appears with tissues, handing one to Gemma who sobs throatily into it, tears now fully streaming down her cheeks.

She wonders for a moment if it makes her a shitty person, that she wants to laugh at what’s happening. Is it wrong of her to gain satisfaction from this? This poor woman, falling to pieces in front of a room full of strangers?

But then Eve remembers that she has been fucking her husband for over a year, and suddenly she no longer cares.

“Ms Astankova,” the judge calls over Gemma’s high pitched sobs, “do you have any further questions for the witness, because I think she may be done.”

“No,” Villanelle says, a worried expression furrowing her brow, “no, all finished. Thank you for your time, Ms Pierson, I hope you feel better soon.” 

With a final smile she turns and walks back to their table, the dark shine of shark eyes fading to hazel.

And Eve has never loved her more.

Villanelle slips down into her seat and nudges Eve with her shoulder, pouring them both water from the jug in front of them.

“So. What did you think?”

“Well,” Eve says casually, “I have never been more attracted to anyone in my entire life. You may have to check me for a wet patch when I stand up.”

Villanelle snorts into her glass. 

——

After another hour recess, it’s time.

“I call Mrs Polastri to the stand.”

“You’ve got this.” Villanelle murmurs, locking eyes with Eve before she stands up. “Okay? You can do this, Eve. Think about after.”

After.

Eve repeats it in her head, a quiet mantra to the rhythm of her footsteps as she walks across the floor and up the wooden steps. After. After. After. She sits in the stand, higher than the rest of the room but lower than the judge to her right, and she waits.

The bailiff steps in front of her.

“Do you solemnly and sincerely and truly declare and affirm that the evidence you shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

“I do.” Eve says clearly.

She looks at Villanelle, who nods once.

“Mr Smith,” Judge Reed says, “you may begin questioning the witness.

“Hi, Mrs Polastri, how are you?”

“Fine, thank you.” Eve says with a small smile, thinking of Villanelle's words from yesterday and this morning.

_ ‘Keep it short, keep it quick, keep it calm. Concise. Concise. Concise.’ _

“Good,” Raymond smiles lazily, eyes mean, “glad to hear it. So, Mrs Polastri, you believe you are entitled to the monies stipulated in the adultery clause of your prenup?”

“Yes.”

“Because you believe your husband has been unfaithful to you…”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Raymond says, “we’ve seen from your evidence why you think that to be the case, but can I tell you something?”

_ No _ , Eve wishes she could say. 

“Studies suggest that those who accuse others of wrongdoings often project their own shortcomings onto the people closest to them. Wives who neglect their partner often turn out to project their own issues onto their partner. Do you think it is possible you subconsciously project some of your own issues onto my client?”

And Eve suddenly remembers that Raymond, smug, little Raymond, is a good lawyer. Villanelle has told her before, time and time again that he isn’t someone to be messed with, and Eve had sort of… dismissed it.

She straightens her spine, and focusses harder. 

“No.” She says clearly. 

“There are four types of neglect...” Raymond continues, as if he didn’t care for whatever Eve might have answered, “physical, medical, educational and emotional.”

She’s confused.

“Okay?” She says, the slight inflection of a question on the word. 

Raymond smiles. 

“Do you and Mr Polastri have meaningful conversations?”

_ What _ ?

“Yes.” Eve says slowly. 

“What about?”

Eve bites her tongue to stop herself letting out an ‘umm’. 

“Work, family, our friends.”

“Do you ever talk about your marriage?”

“Yes,” Eve says, “a lot.”

“Hm,” Raymond hums in acceptance, “did you spend quality time together?”

“We- we tried to, when we weren’t working…” Eve says. 

“What kind of things did you do?” Raymond asks, still smiling that cocky, creepy smile. 

“We... liked walking. Pub gardens. We used to travel.”

“That sounds nice.” Raymond says. “Did you ever think about getting pets?”

“We had a chicken.” Eve says, brow furrowing at the questions, unable to piece together where he might be going. 

“Oh, I have chickens!” Raymond grins. “Pesky little things. Sure are cute though, aren’t they.”

_ What is everyone’s obsession with chickens... _

“They’re fine.”

“Yes,” Raymond chuckles.

Eve is… a bit lost. She was expecting hard questioning, but instead has been getting questions that Eve supposes are to make her appear like she’s neglecting Niko? But they’re so… tame. Is this really all Raymond has? Boring questions that build a vague sort of picture of a marriage that has lost its spark?

She glances at Villanelle and finds the woman sitting straight backed, jaw set and agitated, but why? This is going far better than Eve had expected. 

Raymond turns on the spot, body facing Eve now. “When was the last time you and Mr Polastri had sexual intercourse?”

Eve blinks.

Oh. She’s been played. Lulled? Into a false sense of security, the same way Gemma had been by Villanelle. 

She falters. 

“What?”

“When were you and Mr Polastri last intimate?”

“Um,” she can’t help it, she can’t help the sound, “uh, about... three or so months ago.”

“Was it satisfactory?”

“Jeez…”

“Was it satisfactory, Mrs Polastri?”

Raymond’s face has changed now, the smile gone and replaced with a kind of steel. She spares a moment to think why Villanelle isn’t objecting, before realising that this kind of questioning is probably  _ reasonable _ if you’re talking about a marriage. 

Eve swallows. 

_ Concise. Concise. Concise.  _

“It was fine.”

“Only fine?”

Eve doesn’t want to give Niko the satisfaction, she can practically feel his stare burn her skin. 

“Yes. Fine.”

“Have you ever discussed your sexual fantasies with each other? Are yours and Mr Polastri’s fantasies compatible? Please, don’t feel you need to go into the specific details.”

Eve’s heart thuds harder, the feeling of impending disaster starting to tighten her lungs. 

“We talked about it a… a long time ago.” Eve manages, putting all her energy into keeping her face as still as possible despite the nerves building fast. 

“That’s healthy.” Raymond smiles, but it’s metallic and serrated. “Mrs Polastri, have you ever considered sexual intercourse with a woman?”

“Excuse me?”

“Objection!” Villanelle shouts from their table,  _ finally _ . “Badgering the witness with an incredibly inappropriate question.”

“Mr Smith,” the judge says, frowning, “Ms Astankova is right, this does seem inappropriate. What relevance is there to this question?”

“The relevance, your honour, is that we have evidence that the affair committed by Mrs Polastri against my client was with another woman.”

Gasps erupt from the gallery, far more than can just be attributed to Bill and Keiko. Eve scans the crowd but recognises no one, yet all of the strangers look scandalised.

God, she’d laugh if this situation wasn’t so fucking concerning. 

“Silence in my courtroom!” The judge shouts. “You,” she points at a woman, who gasps again, “and you,” she points at a man in glasses who looks around himself, “out.”

There’s a lot of huffing and puffing as they’re escorted away, and Eve chances another look at Villanelle. The blonde is facing the back, watching, but turns around and catches Eve’s eye. She smiles, the tiniest lift of her lips despite her eyes looking sharpened and hard with focus, and gives Eve an imperceptible nod. 

“Good god,” the judge sighs, “counsel, you may continue with the line of questioning.”

Eve sinks as Raymond smirks. 

“Mrs Polastri,” he begins, “can you recall the events of the night of May 2nd this year?”

Eve frowns, genuinely confused. 

“I- no?”

Raymond sighs impatiently. 

“On the night of May 2nd, a Friday night five weeks ago, did you go out with a friend to a local pub?”

“Oh.” Eve realises. “Yes.”

“And can you recall those events?”

Eve smiles. 

“Yes.”

Raymond looks annoyed at her concise answers now and she considers it a win. She is going to be as irritating as humanly possible for this. 

“And can you tell us the events of that night, in your own words, please.”

“Yes.”

“Oh for-” Raymond cuts himself off, purses his lips in an act of control. “Your honour?”

“Mrs Polastri, please,” the judge waves her hand wearily, “we would all like this hearing to come to an end at some point.”

Raymond turns back to face her, silver edges sharp beneath tightly pulled patience. 

“Your own words.” He repeats, looking at her to continue. 

Eve breathes carefully. Time to try and pull this back. 

“I went for a drink that night.”

“Alright, with who?”

“A friend.”

“And what friend was this?”

It takes a lot for Eve not to cast a glance to the back of the gallery at the man in question. 

“Bill Pargrave.”

“What did you and Mr Pargrave talk about?”

Eve and Villanelle had spoken about this, how they’re unsure as to whether or not Raymond knows that Eve was talking about Villanelle or just some random woman, that night. In his submission for the case he’d only stated that Niko had overheard a conversation between Eve and Bill regarding Eve’s recent sexual activities with a woman, but no further details than that. 

Eve guesses she is about to find out what he knows. 

“My work, his wife, his daughter…”

“Anything else?”

Eve uses one of Villanelle’s tricks and furrows her brow softly, as if nervously confused. 

“I don’t understand the question.”

Raymond’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He persists. 

“Did you talk to your friend about your sex life?”

Well, she can’t avoid the question forever. 

“We may have done, yes.” Eve says, voice somewhat tight. 

“Yes.” He repeats, almost smarmy. “As you are aware, Mrs Polastri, my client was at that pub that night too.”

“I remember.” Eve says. 

“Yes, and he overheard a conversation between you and Mr Pargrave. Were you aware at the time that he had overheard a conversation?”

“No I was not.” Eve says truthfully. 

“Hm,” Raymond paces, “well, for you and for the court, I’m going to read excerpts of what was overheard that night.”

Eve feels the flush begin to creep up her neck before Raymond has even dramatically cleared his throat and retrieved a piece of paper from his file. 

“You were heard saying, and I quote ‘we were kissing and it was amazing and then, Bill, and then I put my hand in her underwear’.”

She feels the eyes of the judge, the eyes of Villanelle, the eyes of Niko, hell, the eyes of the entire room on her as she tries to remain neutral. 

“Also overheard: ‘we were kissing and half naked and I had my hand in her underwear and Jesus, Bill, she felt so good’.”

“Okay,” Eve says weakly, “do we… do we have to go through all-”

“‘after she’d finished, we moved to the bedroom, and she, y’know’ at this point I should tell the court that my client saw Mrs Polastri indicating her mouth-”

“Objection!” Villanelle calls, her own face slightly pink in a way Eve recognises. “Is it necessary to hear the rest? My client is clearly embarrassed and I think we all get the picture.”

“Mr Smith, is there anything remaining that is particularly important for the court to hear?”

Raymond makes a show of reading through his list slowly, dragging Eve’s discomfort for as long as possible. 

“No, just something about how Mrs Polastri had never orgasmed so hard in her life-”

“Okay, then I think we can stop there.” The judge says, eyes widening as she flips through something on her podium desk. “Counsel, move on.”

“Well,” Raymond says, stepping close to Eve, smirk lazy and eyes mocking, “a good, decent lawyer would have prepped you better for those questions.”

And Eve snaps. 

It’s bad. She shouldn’t. 

But she does. 

Before anyone else can object or scold or even get a word in, Eve snaps. 

“Villanelle  _ is _ a good lawyer,” she barks, “a  _ great _ lawyer. She’s been nothing but amazing and hardworking and professional, helping every step of the way, and she’s supportive and kind and-”

The words catch in her throat as she realises what she’s done. 

Her mouth gapes making silent sounds, invisible pleas for the words to just  _ come back _ , but they don’t, of course they don’t, they’re out there, they’re free. 

Eve closes her eyes. 

“Well well well,” Raymond says, and fuck, the barely restrained  _ glee _ in his voice makes her feel sick, “you do seem to think very highly of Ms Astankova.”

“Objection,” Villanelle calls, and Eve doesn’t dare look at her, doesn’t want to see the face attached to that borderline concerned voice, “irrelevant.”

“Oh, this has relevance.” Raymond smiles. “Your honour, this is very much relevant.”

“Overruled,” the judge says, clearly interested, “proceed Mr Smith, and make your point.”

“Mrs Polastri,” Raymond says, “you hold Ms Astankova in high regard, yes?”

Eve glares at him. 

“Yes.” She bites. 

“And correct me if I’m wrong, but you and Ms Astankova have created somewhat of a friendship, throughout this process.”

Eve breathes out steadily. 

“Yes.” 

“Lovely. What sort of things do you do? As friends.” He smiles. 

“We get lunch sometimes. Coffee. We have watched a movie.” Eve lists it robotically, removes all emotion from her voice. 

“A movie! Very nice.” Raymond says cheerily. “And what about the morning that a clerk by the name of Mr Hennley saw you at Ms Astankova’s place of residence?”

The anxiety coursing through Eve flutters behind her eyelids as she thinks. 

“I do not have the footage from our meeting five weeks ago when Mr Hennley interrupted and revealed that he had seen you there, Mrs Polastri,” Raymond concedes before turning to the judge, “but, your honour, I can arrange for that to be collected and submitted should we need it.”

“I-” Eve starts, before the judge can answer. “Yes, I was there.”

Raymond looks  _ delighted _ . 

“And what were you doing there, Mrs Polastri?”

Eve breathes in and takes a second to centre herself. 

One of the good things about working in journalism? You learn to be quick on your feet. 

“Picking up my wallet.”

Raymond pauses. 

“Your wallet?”

Eve nods. 

“Yes.”

“And how did your wallet end up at the home of Ms Astankova?”

“Because I forgot it at dinner.”

Raymond rubs his eyes. 

“At dinner? So you were at dinner with Ms Astankova?”

“Yes,” Eve nods again, “after a meeting ran late.”

“At her house?” He perks up again. 

“No.”

Raymond sighs. He waves a hand. 

“Mrs Polastri, please will you elaborate for the court?”

“I was collecting my wallet before work. Ms Astankova and I had gone for some food the evening before after a meeting had run late. I can be quite forgetful, as my husband could confirm,” Eve indicates Niko with a nod, “I often leave things behind. Somehow my wallet ended up with Ms Astankova, who didn’t realise until after I’d left. She called me to let me know and I arranged to stop by her house the following morning before work. Her home is closer to me and my office than her office is, you see, so collecting from hers on the way to work made sense.”

Raymond says nothing as his skin flushes red with frustration. 

“I’m sure the clerk could attest to the Uber that collected me and the work clothes I was wearing.” Eve continues. “Or Ms Astankova herself could confirm.”

And when Eve looks over at Villanelle, she sees pride shining in hazel eyes. Eve holds back a smile. 

“Very good explanation,” Raymond damn near sneers, “fine. But that does not erase the ethically ambiguous nature of a friendship between a solicitor and their client. Although I’m not surprised, as many of us here know Ms Astankova’s reputation isn’t exactly  _ clean _ .”

Gasps and murmurs rise from the galleries as Villanelle jumps up. 

“Objection!” She shouts. “Irrelevant! And also kind of mean!”

“Mr Smith, this is not a playground.” The judge says angrily. “Please refrain from making insulting accusations or I will have you removed.”

“Your honour,” Raymond stands tall, “the accusation is not unfounded, as I believe that the woman Mrs Polastri is having an affair with... is Ms Astankova herself.”

The gallery should probably just be cleared out at this point, because the gasps and yelps of shock merge into outcry as the public reacts. Three people even stand, throwing their arms in the air and pointing at Villanelle and Raymond and… someone else in the gallery, for some reason, and then a baby starts crying which makes no sense because Eve is pretty certain babies aren’t even  _ allowed _ in courthouses-

“Silence!” The judge roars. “Get those three out of here, and can someone please find out how a  _ baby _ got in? What is  _ happening _ !”

“Fuck me.” Eve mumbles under her breath, slouching back in her chair a little. Never in her life had Eve expected to be involved with this kind of drama, ludicrous as it may be. 

She takes the moments of distraction to run through Raymond’s accusation. So, he and Niko have joined the dots. 

Eve suddenly feels a bit like the bad guy. 

Here she is in court, honest to god lying about what’s happening, just to pick up a cool £250,000 from her marriage. She has people supporting her, encouraging her, but… she’s  _ lying _ . In court. She swore with her hand in the air that she wouldn’t, and yet here she is. 

Is she the bad guy?

She feels eyes on her and looks up to find Niko. His dark eyes bore into her own, and there’s no smirk there, no victorious smugness, they’re just… cold. 

Eve is plunged straight back into how it was. How it felt to have those eyes on her when she returned late from work, when she failed to make him happy, when she would try and try and  _ try _ . 

The eyes that would accompany words like ‘you’re lucky you have me’ and ‘I treat you better than anyone else would’ and ‘you don’t understand how sweet you have it, to have me love you like I do’. He’d reduced Eve to someone who felt undeserving of anyone other than him, blessed to have found the one person who would put up with her. 

Those cold eyes shock life back into her veins. 

She is not the bad guy. 

Eve sits straight. Corrects her slouch. 

She Looks at Villanelle. 

She finds  _ warmth _ in those eyes. 

“Mr Smith,” the judge must have finished organising the room, a background blur to Eve’s internal thoughts, “that is an incredibly serious accusation to make.”

“Your honour, Mrs Polastri was seen at Ms Astankova’s house, has admitted to a friendship with the solicitor, and has openly defended her in a rather passionate way during her own divorce hearing.” Raymond stresses. “I do not believe my accusation is unfounded.”

Judge Reed is silent for a moment, lips pursed as she thinks. She looks at Eve, eyes focused, then at Villanelle who sits calmly, staring right back.

“Counsel,” she addresses Raymond, “you may continue this line of questioning, but if I feel at any point that you are speculating or badgering then your time to question will be over. Understood?”

“Thank you, your honour.”

Raymond looks relieved for all of a second before his features slide back into steel. 

“Mrs Polastri, it’s clear you think very highly of Ms Astankova, enough to defend her, have dinner with her, engage in other activities with her.” Raymond says, sharper than before. “You have even been to her house. Forgive me for believing that something more might be going on. Are you aware of the risk that poses to Ms Astankova’s career?”

“Nothing is going on.” Eve says calmly, unable, however, to keep the low tones from her voice. 

“Are you aware of the risk that poses to your divorce case?”

“Nothing is going on.” Eve says again.

“I see,” Raymond nods, “I see. Mrs Polastri, what would you say if I told the court that it is highly likely that the conversation you had with your friend, the conversation overheard in part by my client, was about Ms Astankova and yourself.”

“I would say that you are speculating.”

“Ah,” Raymond smiles, “she taught you that word then. I wonder what else she has taught you.”

“Objection,” Villanelle says loudly, throwing her hands in the air, “ _ really _ ?”

“Sustained,” the judge calls, “strike that comment from the record. Mr Smith, you have  _ one _ chance left.”

“Mrs Polastri,” Raymond stands at his fullest height, “was the conversation you had that night, May 2nd, about Ms Astankova?”

It all goes quiet for Eve, then. A silence presses her, but it doesn’t hurt. It’s clarifying. The moment after a jump, a dive, before you hit the water, before you break the surface. 

Eve sees the water rush at her, and knows that it is time. 

“Yes.” Eve says quietly. 

A lot of things happen at once. 

Villanelle sits up, ramrod straight, shock on her face unmistakable even from the corner of Eve’s eye. 

The judge looks at her, murmurs “oh  _ my _ god” as her gaze fixes on Eve’s profile. 

Niko drops something, or knocks something over, the noise reverberating somehow through Eve’s skull. 

And Raymond, Raymond says,

“What?”

Eve looks at him, eyes honest. She says nothing. 

“You…” he starts, trying to reign in his surprise, “you are admitting to an affair with Ms Astankova?”

Eve licks her lips, and leans forward. 

“No.”

Confused murmurs fill the courtroom but the judge doesn’t silence them. 

“Then what,” Raymond growls, “was the conversation between you and Mr Pargrave?”

Eve takes a deep breath. 

This is going to hurt.

“I was describing a fantasy,” Eve says, then lets out her held breath, wincing before she even speaks the words, “that I had… masturbated to.”

No one says anything. 

Raymond blinks. 

“I’m sorry, I… didn’t catch that.”

“I said it was masturbation fodder.” Eve says loudly, clearer than before. She leans towards the mic. “And I would just like to add that this is the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me, thank you.”

Because it  _ is _ mortifying. 

But… she thinks she might be  _ winning _ .

Raymond’s mouth works but nothing comes out at first, his face flushing a similar colour to what Eve imagines her own face is. 

He runs a hand over his hair. 

“Are… are you sure that it wasn’t you recounting tales of immoral and unethical ambiguity?”

“Objection,” Villanelle says, eerily  _ calm _ , and Eve looks over and sees Villanelle’s chin in her hand, something akin to awe on her face, “that is a leading question.”

“Sustained.” The Judge has found her voice again, but it still holds an element of shock. “Mr Smith, refrain from asking the witness leading questions.”

It’s clear that Raymond is beyond rallying at this point, completely thrown by what Eve has told him. 

“So you're telling me, the court, the judge, that what my client overheard was you… telling your friend what you thought about while… masturbating.”

She burns with embarrassment. 

“Yes.”

“You told this... to your friend.”

“Yes,” Eve says again, awkwardly, “we are, um, very close.”

There’s a guffaw from the gallery followed by a hasty female shushing. 

Raymond stares at Eve, bewilderment starting to border on angry. Eve continues to burn. 

“A masturbation fantasy...about your solicitor, Ms Astankova.”

Eve might burn right through this wooden podium. 

“...yes.”

“And… she was not aware of this?”

“ _ Jesus _ , no,” Eve says quickly before staring up at the ceiling for a moment, searching for a divine entity or escape ladder or something to rescue her from this, “why would I tell my lawyer that? No, she has no idea she had a… starring role in my… late night… thoughts.”

Raymond turns to stare at Villanelle.

The judge stares at Villanelle. 

The entire room is staring at Villanelle. 

The blonde shrugs confidentially, fighting back a smile. 

“It is not my fault if she thinks of me,” she says simply, “and it is not a crime for her to do so, either. Masturbation is completely natural-”

“Okay,” the judge interrupts, “we do not need a biology lesson.”

It’s quiet again for a while, enough time passing for Eve to will the humiliated flush from her cheeks. No one speaks, and everyone waits. 

The judge clears her throat. 

“Well,” she says eventually, “Mr Smith, do you have any more questions for Ms Polastri?”

“I-” he begins before his shoulders fall slightly, “no, I do not.”

“Alright,” the judge says, “Ms Astankova, would you like to cross examine the witness?”

“You know what,” Villanelle smiles, “I think we are good. I have no questions for my client.”

“Okay then. Mrs Polastri, you may return to your seat.”

——

It’s not hard for Eve to keep up a mortified persona while sitting next to Villanelle. 

Villanelle knows that Eve lied, obviously, but Eve gets the feeling that Villanelle wasn’t quite expecting what Eve had said. She’s surprised in a good way. Impressed. 

It’s very hot. 

And so the flush on Eve’s cheeks isn’t from embarrassment anymore. But hey, if it helps people believe she’s embarrassed? To be sitting beside someone she just claimed to masturbate over? 

Well. That works out fine. 

——

Raymond’s closing argument is poor in content, but precise in execution. 

He’s lost his momentum but tries to find it, grasping at the end of a kite string already a hundred yards in the air. He sticks to his main points, denies Eve’s answers, claims that someone capable of neglecting her husband is also capable of coming up with these falsities. 

He goes on and on, doubling down on his arguments, tripling down on them, until finally he sits, face flushed with exertion and forehead shimmering under the electric strip lighting of the room. 

But Eve is still nervous. 

Despite his practically flailing speech, his points were good. Eve really could have been making it all up, and for Eve to admit that she was attracted to Villanelle, along with the fact that she’d been seen  _ at her house _ ? This could go either way. 

She clings to their evidence and Villanelle’s questioning of Gemma like a life raft. 

——

The judge leaves the courtroom for a total of twenty minutes. 

It’s quick. Eve wasn’t sure what she was expecting. Hours of waiting, perhaps? A day sat worrying and biting her nails in this wide and tall room, with lukewarm coffee and Niko’s ever looming presence?

But no. Twenty minutes is all it takes to decide Eve’s future. 

“Whatever happens,” Villanelle murmurs to her as they wait, “we will have each other. Okay?”

“But what if I lose?” Eve whispers nervously. “What if they investigate further and you get fired? What if-”

“What have I said about ‘what if’s?” Villanell levelled her with a steady gaze. 

“You don’t work with ‘what if’s.” Eve replies softly. 

“I don’t work with ‘what if’s.” Villanelle replies. “Those bridges will be there if we ever have to cross them. But for now?” Villanelle draws a small heart in her notebook, inconspicuous to anyone else but visible to Eve. “For now, we know that we have  _ after _ .” 

The judge enters the room for the final time. 

Everyone stands. Murmurs rise from the back and fall silent at a glare from Judge Reed as she heads back behind her podium. 

She sits. 

She adjusts her glasses. 

She nods at the bailiff. 

“You may be seated.”

Everyone sits. 

Everyone is silent. 

The judge has papers in her hands and she flips through them quickly before looking up and staring between the two tables, the two parties, the two halves. 

The judge clears her throat. 

Eve feels her own heart lodged in hers. 

“Taking into account the evidence presented by both parties, the witness statements, and the various accounts argued.” Judge Reed says, clear and precise, “the evidence of the receipt, the brassiere, the eyewitness account, and the testimonials…”

Judge Reed looks down at her paper, then back up. 

Eve holds her breath. 

“The court finds it reasonable to award in favour of…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think that cliffhanger is inspired by the movie Chicago then no you don’t 
> 
> I fell asleep twice while proofreading so any dumb mistakes are 100% because of that


	28. Explicit solicitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do not read this around people. Unless it’s your sexual partner/person. Ooh or unless you are reading it WITH your sexual partner/person, in which case have at it you kinky devils!

All Villanelle can do is try to focus on not dropping her keys. 

“Eve,” she breathes, “let me-”

But Eve is pressing into her back, her heeled shoes giving her an extra inch that lets her lips find Villanelle’s neck with ease, uncaring that Villanelle is just trying to open her front door. 

“Eve…” she says again, trailing into a sigh as the woman’s hands slip under her blazer at her waist to start tugging the black shirt from her trousers.

The hands succeed and slide under that expensive layer too, fingertips starting to dance heat across her skin. 

She could lose herself to this easily, so easily.

“Eve,” she tries one last time, “if you do not stop then I will make you take me right here in broad daylight, which while I could be into it, I am not so sure you will be.”

Eve pauses. 

“You’ll _make_ me?” She purrs. 

“Well, no,” Villanelle admits, “but I would strongly encourage it.” She tilts her hips back just the tiniest amount, enough to bump into Eve gently, whose breath catches. “And I can be very persuasive.” 

“Kind of want to see if you’re serious,” Eve murmurs, “but okay. Open the door.”

Villanelle is allowed a few moments to twist the key in the lock and fumble the handle until they’re in and the door is slamming behind them. Eve fists Villanelle’s shirt in her hands and tugs her into a fierce kiss, all fire and pressure and _want_ , and then she’s pushing her backwards, past the sofa and the bathroom and the hallway and straight into the kitchen where her back hits the kitchen island. 

Villanelle grunts when she bumps sharply against the marble, the slight pain already echoing as pleasure between her legs. 

“You would not believe how much I want you.” Eve says with a rasp, hands ridding Villanelle of her blazer. Villanelle manages a breathy laugh. 

“I mean, I kind of can,” she says, “you literally told me mid-court hearing that you were wet.”

“That’s nothing compared to now.” Eve mumbles against her lips.

Villanelle kisses her again as Eve’s words pool low. 

Their lips press, already forming a solid rhythm that seems impossible considering how many times they’ve kissed before, already so practiced, so perfect. Their mouths open and their tongues slide as gasped air tangles, and Villanelle starts to unbutton Eve’s blouse as the woman bucks her hips into Villanelle’s own.

“Remember what you said?” Eve murmurs, popping the button of Villanelle’s trousers. “When I had you pressed against that wall, before our first time?”

“I said a lot of things.” Villanelle sighs as the fabric slips down her thighs. She kicks her shoes off, her movements messy from how she refuses to stop undoing Eve’s blouse. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

Eve kisses her hard before ducking quickly, pulling Villanelle’s trousers from her calves and flinging them somewhere with no care for the expensive material. Villanelle doesn’t care either. 

Eve shrugs her own blouse off while Villanelle works on the trousers, unbuttoning and unzipping and encouraging them down, down, until they’re gone too, leaving only Eve, gorgeous glorious Eve, dressed in pretty underwear and pressed against Villanelle like they’re made to fit. 

Fingers find Villanelle’s top button but the movement slows. Eve becomes precise, dragging out the process while the air still rushes around them with a frenzied tension Villanelle can feel thrumming in her veins. 

“I’ll remind you.” Eve says, voice thick with a desire Villanelle wants to taste. She continues working the buttons through the loops, gaze following her hands as Villanelle stands there and breathes shallow. Her fingers dig into the soft skin of Eve’s hips now, only covered by satiny underwear embroidered with roses. Her fingertips rub over the bloom of one. 

“You told me you’d been thinking about us. Me. Where you wanted to have me.”

The memory fights through swirling lust but it’s fractured, broken by deft fingers that brush her bare stomach as they work towards the final four buttons. 

“You told me,” Eve says slowly, “that you thought of me in bed…” she trails off and pops a button, “on the couch,” another button, “in the shower…” Eve undoes another and leans up slightly until her lips hover over hers, until Villanelle can feel the plush velvet of them, kiss-swollen and berry coloured. Eve smiles, and works the last button open as she whispers, “on the counter.”

The air leaves Villanelle in a heated rush. Her shirt falls open but the cool air of the house does nothing to bring down the fever she feels skittering over her skin. 

Her hands go to Eve’s face, fingers raking back through thick curls as she stares into dark eyes. 

“Eve.” She says, and she wants to say something else but words fail her, they leave her in a silent breath. Eve notices, smirks, bites her lip. 

And she turns around. 

And _bends_. 

A second passes, two, then Villanelle is hit with a wave of arousal that has her fingers shaking, her breath stuttering as she tries to stay standing. 

Eve is folded over the counter and leaning on her elbows, the ash grey underwear stark against her olive skin and the polished tiles. 

Villanelle tries to breathe as Eve glances back over her shoulder. 

“Show me.” Eve says quietly. 

Villanelle moves. 

Her hands find Eve’s hips and squeeze before one runs up her back, palm tracing over smooth skin until it meets long dark curls, and _fists_. 

Eve grunts. 

And Villanelle can’t find her words. 

This woman, this amazing _roaring_ _fire_ of a woman, is giving herself to Villanelle. Trust and love and deliciously thick tension, all of it for Villanelle to take and to keep, to keep and keep and _keep_. 

Villanelle leans over Eve and traces her spine with her lips until she’s near the base of her neck. She leaves a soft kiss there, and sighs hotly. 

“Eve,” she murmurs into gentle skin, “you are mine now, yes?”

“And you’re mine,” Eve breathes, “each other’s.”

“I want to belong to you.”

She feels Eve shift. 

“That sounds possessive.” Eve says softly. Villanelle shakes her head slightly. 

“No, not possessive, I do not mean it like that.” She kisses the skin again as she thinks, tries to stitch together the meaning in her mind, “I just… it’s-”

Eve hushes her. 

“I get it,” Eve whispers, “I get it.”

Villanelle sighs gratefully, kisses a third time. 

Eve is warm. 

“Touch me, Oksana.”

——

Swollen and wet beneath her fingertips, Eve is perfect. 

Arousal drips, slow and unsteady into Villanelle’s palm as she circles, fingers skating around Eve’s clit, around and over and across, one finger, two, patterns and beats. A harmony of lust, or something else poetic. 

Eve is whimpering, arms having given up a while ago and her forehead pressed against the cool surface of the kitchen island. Villanelle is alternating between rough thrusts of her long fingers and swooping patterns on Eve’s clit, keeping up and dragging out a rhythm that she knows Eve can _feel_ , that she knows will drive her wild, but keeps her just on the edge. 

Eve’s legs quiver, her back glittering under the kitchen lights with a thin sheen of sweat. She’s on a precipice. Villanelle wonders if Eve has ever been denied an orgasm for this long before.

It’s a devastatingly good look on her.

“Please,” she gasps, “Vil, harder.”

“Mm,” Villanelle hums, calm despite her own arousal flushing her skin pink, “not yet.”

“Tease,” Eve chuckles breathlessly. 

“Foreplay.” Villanelle gives a firm sweep across Eve’s swollen clit. 

Eve rolls her head to the side and tries to look back at Villanelle. “Foreplay? _Today_ was foreplay, seeing you dominate that room, in that suit, all loud and-” she trails off into a moan as Villanelle’s fingers enter her again, curving against her walls. 

“Powerful?”

“God, yes,” Eve whines, pushing her hips back. 

The hand wrapped in Eve’s hair tugs, jerking her head back a little and drawing out a throaty groan. “Harder.” Eve tries again.

Villanelle tugs tighter on the hair and feels Eve’s grunt throb in her own clit, and she’s aching to be touched, aching, but she focuses on Eve, on Eve bent over for her, Eve wet and messy and _hot_ for her. 

“Please,” Eve gasps again, “I need to come, please baby.”

It’s the pet name that does it. 

Villanelle wraps her hand tighter in Eve’s hair and doubles down her efforts, fingers picking up pace as they start to pound into Eve. 

The moan from Eve is choked. 

Villanelle’s fingers slide easily, Eve’s slick arousal coating them as she opens her legs wide and forces her hips back hard into Villanelle’s hand with every thrust. It’s rough and dirty and beats any image and fantasy Villanelle had while playing with her own clit late at night to sinful thoughts of Eve, Eve, _Eve_.

“ _Fuck_.” She breathes, the strain in her wrist only turning her on further, the burning so worth it. “You look so good like this, letting me fuck you.”

“God,” Eve grunts, her hands grasping at the edge of the counter suddenly, grip turning her knuckles white as she braces against Villanelle, “ _shit_ , Oksana.”

Villanelle is soaked, underwear clinging to her as she fucks Eve. She gives the curls one last harsh pull, Eve moaning high in response, before dragging her hand down and slapping Eve's ass, once, not too hard, then holding it tight. Eve throws her head back and cries out when Villanelle’s palm meets her skin.

“Fuck yes, I like that,” Eve pants, back arching, “again. Harder.”

The discovery burns Villanelle, sends a new wave of flames coursing as she lets go and slaps again, moaning at the high-pitched whine Eve lets out. She slaps once more, striking the skin where it’s become rosy before gripping it. She lets her nails dig in, lets the pressure create dips in perfect skin.

Villanelle feels delirious with want.

“I’m close baby,” Eve gasps, “fuck, don’t stop.”

The breathlessness of her voice draws new energy from somewhere in Villanelle who pumps harder still into Eve, the force rocking the woman whose moans become higher, thinner, more desperate with each thrust, and Villanelle doesn’t want to stop, doesn’t ever want to stop fucking Eve here, now, wants it to last but wants the collision too, wants, _wants-_

Villanelle slides her hand from Eve’s ass to her lower back and presses, almost pushes Eve into the pressure of her fingers and Eve’s movements stutter, jerk, and she grinds back _hard_.

“Oh,” Eve cries out, “ _fuck-_ ”

The wetness hits Villanelle’s palm with gentle force.

It’s a gush, hot and liquid, that completely coats her hand and wrist and trickles to the floor as Eve shakes. Villanelle moans at the feel and the sight, at how hard Eve is coming against her, at the shimmer of liquid now on the kitchen floor. 

Villanelle keeps her hand moving through Eve’s soaked cunt as she brings her down, the panting whimpers making Villanelle dizzy with need until eventually Eve stills, slumps, and breathes.

“Holy shit,” Eve gasps into the countertop, “god.”

Villanelle finds her voice, cracked open with lust.

“Did you just-”

“Yeah,” Eve murmurs around heavy breathing, “it’s… usually it’s only me that can make… _that_ happen. No one else has ever made me…”

Villanelle slowly pulls her fingers from Eve and settles the wet hand on her hip, the other starting to stroke soothing patterns along her back.

“You can say ‘squirted’, Eve,” Villanelle says with a breathy chuckle, heart still racing, “it’s okay.”

“I…” Eve starts, then she’s pushing herself up with trembling arms and turning to lean the small of her back against the countertop, “I know… I just find it a little embarrassing, or whatever.”

Villanelle blinks in surprise. She presses in close.

“Oh, oh Eve,” Villanelle says seriously and cups Eve’s cheeks, fingers on one hand still tacky and damp, “Eve, please do not be embarrassed. That was the hottest thing that has ever happened to me, and it didn’t even technically happen to me.”

Eve chuckles as she tilts her head into one of Villanelle’s palms.

“Really?” She smiles, unsure.

“Yes,” Villanelle implores with wide eyes, “it was amazing. I am jealous! And so, _so_ turned on.”

“Jealous?” Eve asks, bringing her own hands to rest on Villanelle’s shoulders. “Why?”

“Because I wish I could do it,” Villanelle shrugs, “it looks like it feels… _incredible_.”

“It does feel pretty good,” Eve mumbles with a wider smile, sliding her hands to link behind Villanelle’s neck, “you’ve never done it?”

Villanelle shakes her head. 

“No.”

“Hm,” hums Eve as she gently tugs Villanelle closer, “maybe that’s something we can work on…” her voice drops to just above a whisper, “maybe together we can make it happen.”

And then she’s being tugged forward, and Eve’s lips meet hers. 

It’s instantly passionate, the flames reigniting, the touch of tongues the spark. 

“I want to eat you out,” Eve murmurs hotly against Villanelle's mouth, “I promise not to almost cry this time.”

Villanelle can’t help but laugh. 

“After how wet fucking you just made me, you can do whatever you want.”

——

They don’t make it to the bedroom. 

They barely make it out of the kitchen. 

Villanelle’s hardwood floors are beautiful to look at but hard against her shoulder blades, but it adds to the intensity of it all, adds to the way Eve’s teeth feel against her hardened nipple as she arches. 

There are no words now, there isn’t the breath for them as faint bite marks scatter Villanelle’s chest posessively, as nails dig harshly into ribs, hips, thighs. 

Eve slides down and drags away Villanelle’s underwear, hastily throwing it and immediately pressing pale thighs apart and opening Villanelle up to dark eyes and a darker gaze, rich and heavy like something _decedent_ , and-

Her mouth is on Villanelle’s cunt with no warning, no preamble, it’s there and it’s fast and her inner lips are captured and Eve’s tongue grinds against them, and Villanelle didn’t know Eve could get like this, so _hungry_.

She can’t wait to discover everything. Every kink, every sensitive spot, every dirty dream and every morning gasp, the way she sounds when she uses toys, the way she looks touching herself in the shower, the way she _is_ , what makes up this _fire_ before her with hair like plumes of smoke and a mouth like lasting embers. 

Eve’s tongue dips inside her, teasing for half a second before the same passion overtakes and she pushes all the way in, stroking Villanelle’s walls as her hands reach up to grab Villanelle’s tits, and god it’s been _seconds_ but Villanelle is going to come. 

“Eve,” she pants, the only word her mouth can make, “ _oh_.”

The tongue drags out and immediately curls around her clit, and then her lips are there and she sucks and Villanelle moans, whimpers, _whines_ for Eve to make her feel good, to share the fire and set her alight. 

“Eve,” she groans again, back curving away from the hardwood and eyes sliding shut and “ _Eve-_ ”

Eve grinds her tongue against Villanelle’s clit, and she’s gone. 

When she comes, Eve moans, heady and low into her, hair tickling the sweat slick skin of Villanelle’s inner thighs as her tongue continues a languid stroke of her clit, not helping to ease her through it but stoking the flames she caused, continuous, not letting up until again, it starts again, Villanelle is pulled into another orgasm and she’s arching, coming, _panting_. 

Eve gives her a chance to breathe, finally, _finally_ , and Villanelle lets her muscles relax, let’s the hard floor become soft and pliant beneath her as she sinks, dreamlike, through the foundations. 

Eve is at her neck. When? Who knows, or cares, really, as long as she’s there. Eve is kissing softly, tiny pecks up the slope of her throat until she’s mouthing the soft skin beneath her ear. 

“You’re so goddamn pretty.” Eve murmurs through a smile Villanelle can feel. “And so goddamn perfect. I’m so lucky.”

“Mm, no,” Villanelle sasses back throatily, voice raw, “I am definitely the lucky one, were you not here for the multiple orgasms I just had?”

Eve chuckles against her neck. 

“I was, actually, yeah.” She pulls back and leans on her elbow to gaze down at Villanelle, smile wide and skin still flushed. “But I mean it. I’m so lucky. You are…”

“The bestest?” Villanelle suggests with an eyebrow quirked. 

“Yes,” Eve laughs, “the bestest. Kind, smart, funny, passionate, weird. Hot as hell.”

“And yours.” Villanelle says softly. She lifts a hand to brush Eve’s hair behind her ear. “All yours.”

Eve kisses her cheek then nestles in to get comfortable, an arm around Villanelle’s waist and her head resting on her collarbone. 

“I still can’t believe that we are… _us_ , now.”

“We always were.” Villanelle murmurs, craning her neck to drop a kiss to the top of Eve’s head. 

“Sure, but now it’s legit. We get to be each other’s. How magic is that?”

“Pretty magic.” Villanelle agrees happily. 

They lie there for a while, and Villanelle listens to Eve’s steady breathing, the warm puffs of air against her flushed chest lulling her until her eyes drift shut.

Villanelle has never felt peace like this.

Eve stirs eventually, her fingers coming up to trace the skin above Villanelle’s breasts softly. 

“Remind me again how the hearing went?”

Villanelle chuckles. 

“You won, Eve.”

Eve sighs. 

“ _We_ won.”

The peace doubles, triples, blooms like sunflowers behind her lungs. She feels lighter than air. 

“Yes.” She breathes. “We won.” She wiggles then, shifting until she can roll onto her side and get eye level with Eve, still holding her close. Fingers skate across Eve’s cheekbone. “Perjury looks good on you.”

Eve laughs loudly at that. She reaches around Villanelle and draws shapes on Villanelle’s back with her fingertips. 

“Stop it.” Eve manages at the end of her laugh.

“I’m serious,” Villanelle insists with a grin, “it is very sexy. And I should not be saying that, you know? I am a solicitor.”

Villanelle trails her fingers from Eve’s cheek, down her neck and chest, then stops to circle Eve’s nipple delicately, teasingly. 

Eve shivers as she bites her lip. 

“A solicitor of the _explicit_.” She says, eyes glancing down at Villanelle’s hand then away in thought. “An explicit solicitor. Ha! Try saying that three times fast. Explicit solicitor explicit solicitor explicit sol-”

“Okay,” Villanelle chuckles, pinching the nipple softly, “stop now.”

Eve sighs a little, shifts her hips forward a touch. 

“What if I said it between your legs?”

Villanelle stops twirling her fingers and pulls back to study Eve. 

“Again?” She asks, and Eve’s nods, eyes sparkling. Villanelle rolls her eyes dramatically. “ _Well_ , I cannot stop you, I guess.”

“Okay,” Eve shrugs at Villanelle’s feigned nonchalance, “I won’t then.”

Villanelle clutches her in an amused kind of panic, giggling through her desperation. “No no, please, I’m sorry.”

Eve tilts her head against the floor and narrows her eyes. 

“I suppose you have been a very good girl.”

Oh, Eve is playing _dirty_. 

...and it is _working!_

Villanelle swallows excitedly. 

“I have,” she says in a soft rush, uncaring if she sounds needy, “I have been good, you saw how good.”

Eve smirks and pulls villanelle closer. 

“I did, you were so good, so talented and striking up there in front of the judge, the others...” Eve sighs shakily, “me.”

“For you,” Villanelle breathes into the shrinking space between them, “it was all for you.”

Eve kisses her gently, carefully, a promise of sorts in the press of lips as they lie on the floor. 

_How_ are they still on the floor?

It makes Villanelle chuckle quietly. 

“Now,” she says, their noses brushing, “tell me how pretty and good I am while telling my clit that tongue twister of yours.”

Eve laughs, but rolls on top of Villanelle. 

“All at once? How?” She asks, smiling wide. 

Villanelle smiles back.

“I’m sure you will work something out.”

——

The next morning, there are pancakes. 

“Did you make these?” Eve asks as she heads out of the bathroom after her shower. 

“No,” Villanelle says seriously, “the elves did.” She waits a beat for Eve to roll her eyes. “Of course I made them, Eve.”

“Sass pants,” Eve chuckles, “whatever. They look amazing.”

“They are.” Confirms Villanelle, sliding plates and cutlery to Eve to set out on the island. “I have fruit, cream, bacon and maple syrup. Take your pick.”

“All.”

Villanelle turns from the frying pan to look at Eve over her shoulder. She raises one eyebrow.

“All?”

“All.” Eve nods. “I want all the toppings.”

“On the same stack?” Villanelle asks, slightly horrified. Oh dear. This was maybe a dealbreaker. 

“No, you animal,” Eve laughs, “I’ll start with bacon and maple, end with fruit and cream. Like a main and dessert. Duh.”

“Duh.” Villanelle mimics with a smile as she turns back to the frying pan. 

It’s silent for a while barring the sizzle of batter and the chirping of birds, until another sound filters in. 

Soft, calm humming, slow and lilting, easy to miss if you aren’t listening, but Villanelle is listening. She subtly turns down the heat until the sizzling fades to a quiet fizz. 

The melody is sweet, it is spring and summer in one, and before Villanelle can stop herself she’s sliding the last pancake onto a plate and rounding the counter, approaching Eve. 

The humming stops as Eve looks up at her curiously from her seat on the stool. 

“What? Are you going to make fun of me for the toppings again? We’ve moved past that topic now.”

“What were you humming?”

“I was humming?”

“Yes,” Villanelle nods earnestly, “it was beautiful.”

“Oh, uh,” Eve starts, scrunching her nose up, “I guess… I think it was One Day Like This? It’s been stuck in my head all morning.”

“Sing it to me?” Villanelle pleads softly. “Please?”

“I don’t know…” Eve says, blushing a little and looking down. 

“I will make you spaghetti hoops for lunch later,” Villanelle says, completely seriously, because this is a very serious matter, “I won’t even tease you for it.”

Eve laughs. 

“I don’t need spaghetti hoops, and shut up, you definitely would tease me.” Eve bites her lip as she scans Villanelle’s face thoughtfully. “Okay. I’ll sing.”

The morning sun streaming through the french doors gives Eve a kind of glow. 

It’s perfect. 

Villanelle settles into the stool beside her and props an elbow on the counter, chin resting in her palm. Eve laughs at her preparations, like she does not understand what a _big deal_ this is. 

“Okay, um… okay.” Eve glances away, and clears her throat. 

“ _Drinking in the morning sun,_

_Blinking in the morning sun,_

_Shaking off a heavy one,_

_Yeah, heavy like a loaded gun._ ”

Oh, Villanelle was _not_ prepared, Villanelle could _never_ be prepared.

“ _What made me behave that way?_

_Using words I never say._

_I can only think it must be love,_

_Oh anyway, it's looking like a beautiful day._ ”

Eve looks back at Villanelle, any embarrassment seemingly forgotten, and she smiles, grinning a little at Villanelle who must look entranced. 

She _is_ entranced. 

“ _'Cause holy cow, I love your eyes,_

 _And only now I see the light_.”

Eve rests her hand atop Villanelle’s on her thigh, dances her fingertips along the knuckles. 

“ _Yeah, lying with you half awake,_

 _Oh, anyway, it's looking like a beautiful day._ ”

Villanelle is lost. Lost in the look of Eve, the feel of her, the _sound_ of her. She loves her wholeheartedly, with her entire being, her entire soul, she loves Eve. 

“ _When my face is chamois creased,_

_If you think I wink, I did._

_Laugh politely at repeats._

_Yeah, kiss me when my lips are thin._ ”

Eve pulls her in here, kisses her once, quickly, then leans back to softly curl blonde hair around her finger. 

“Dance with me.” She whispers softly, letting Villanelle’s hair go and taking her hands. She tugs her up gently, pulls her close, drapes her arms around Villanelle’s neck as Villanelle’s hands fall to cup her waist reverently. 

Has her heart stopped beating? Has it stopped, knowing that this is it? Or is it thundering too fast for her to feel, a rabbit’s beat fluttering beyond Villanelle’s recognition. 

Eve sways. 

Villanelle sways with her. 

“ _So throw those curtains wide,_

_One day like this a year would see me right._

_Throw those curtains wide,_

_One day like this a year would see me right._ ”

Villanelle holds Eve as they move, brings her closer still and rests her cheek on Eve, her thick curls brushing her skin in a tickle that Villanelle can no longer live without. 

“ _Throw those curtains wide,_

 _One day like this a year would see me right._ ”

Eve sings softly by Villanelle’s ear and oh, there’s her heart again, skipping a beat as soft notes skim by. 

She loves her, she loves her she loves her she loves her. 

“I love you.” Villanelle murmurs in the space between lyrics, between rhythm and melody. “I love you so much, Eve.”

Eve’s sigh is blissful. 

“ _Throw those curtains wide.”_

Eve sighs sweetly again.

And Villanelle vows to keep Eve forever in the sunlight. 

“ _One day like this a year would see me right for life.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ft one of my favourite songs that I randomly decided would be cute in this and then realised the lyrics work pretty nicely! It’s by Elbow, if you didn’t know and want to listen :) 
> 
> Thank you for reading (and for your kind words on my little update ‘chapter’), you’re all a bunch of peaches, I love you. Chat to me in the comments? Epilogue style thing next week and then QPQ is DONEZO? Until Halloween.


	29. After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The word golden has lost all meaning!

Funchal is glorious. 

Obviously it’s glorious. It’s in Madeira, in  _ Portugal _ , so  _ obviously _ it’s glorious. 

Eve has travelled to a lot of places but never here until last week, never a gorgeous little island full of colour and life and blue seas and blue skies. 

Of course, seeing Villanelle dappled in golden sunlight, hazel eyes shining a shade of green Eve can’t begin to describe, has made it all the more incredible. 

The trip is just… beyond. 

One week of warm sun, sweet cocktails, amazing food and, honest to god, an amount of sex Eve has never thought herself capable of. One week to go. 

It’s been idyllic. And it’s all because of Villanelle. 

Oksana. 

One week after the trial, she’d told Eve to book a fortnight off work and wouldn’t tell her why. Usually Eve would react to that, would get annoyed, demand to know, try to gain at least some control over the situation. But with Villanelle? Control doesn’t seem as important. 

They are equals. She knows that. Feels it. There is  _ trust _ . 

And so she trusts her, and books two weeks off in the following month. 

It only takes two weeks until Eve moves in. Sort of. 

The toaster/u-haul joke is based on some truth, Eve can confirm, despite not being a lesbian herself. 

They just figured… why not? They’d waited long enough, kept apart beyond their control, so why continue to pretend like they don’t want to be around each other whenever they can? Fuck society. They fell in love quick enough, so why not cohabitate too?

A few days after Eve had lugged the few belongings she wanted to keep to Villanelle’s house (the furniture can stay with Niko, it’s all boring anyway), a huge bouquet of flowers had appeared in Villanelle’s office addressed to Eve. 

_ “Eve,” Villanelle says on the phone, calling her during the workday, “flowers have just arrived for you.” _

_ “What?” Eve asks. “What do you mean?” _

_ “Mm, a large bouquet, very… purple. The card is addressed to you.” Villanelle chuckles. “Is there someone else? Should I be concerned? You do have a history…” _

_ “Hey,” Eve complains “don’t do that. It’s not like you were just some random affair… you were-” _

_ “The one.” Villanelle sighs, dramatic and dreamlike. “Your soulmate, your true love, the one you had been waiting for, your darling-” _

_ “Okay,” Eve laughs, “yes, all of the above and more, blah blah.” She smiles as Villanelle huffs playfully. “But no, there is no one else. Don’t be an ass.” _

_ “Okay, well, what do you want me to do with them?” _

_ “What does the card say?” _

_ “You want me to open it? A note addressed to you?” Villanelle gasps in exaggerated shock. “Eve, that is illegal.” _

_ “You’re illegal.” _

_ “Rude.” _

_ “Just open the card!” Eve laughs.  _

_ Eve waits while Villanelle shuffles about, and eventually Eve is met with… surprised laughter.  _

_ “Oh wow,” Villanelle says around it, “this is… unexpected.” _

_ “Who’s it from?” Eve demands, equal parts excited and nervous.  _

_ “This is… actually very sweet? We should invite her over for dinner. Or maybe a lunch out somewhere. Wow.” _

_ “Who is it, Villanelle?” _

_ “You are not going to believe this, Eve.” Villanelle says through an obvious smile. “Really, this is quite amazing. And nice, too, like, really. Wow. Wowie wow-” _

_ “Oksana!” Eve barks, much to her coworkers chagrin and Villanelle’s delight.  _

_ “Oh, you know I like when you get all demanding.” Villanelle purrs. “Okay, are you ready? I will read the note.” _

_ “I’m ready.” Eve quickly darts into the break room to focus. “Go.” _

_ “Okay.” Villanelle clears her throat. “Eve, I hope these find you well. I know nothing I could ever say will make up for what I did, but I am sorry. You were right all along. Thank you for helping me see it. I think maybe what happened two weeks ago might have saved me from something I am afraid you may have already suffered through. Again, I am so sorry. I hope that you live a full and happy life. Gemma.” _

_ Eve is silent for a few moments.  _

_ “Are you serious?” _

_ “Yup.” Villanelle chirps. “See? Wow.” _

_ “Wow.” Eve repeats. “Huh.” _

_ Villanelle pauses.  _

_ “So… what do you think?” _

_ Eve has an apology from the woman who helped destroy her marriage, who led to the ultimate devastation of almost seventeen years of Eve’s life, who lied through her teeth on the stand (not that Eve is innocent there). She has all of that, in an apparently overly purple bouquet. She has the chance to throw the apology back in her face and the flowers in the trash.  _

_ Eve bites her lip.  _

_ “I think…” she starts slowly, “a lunch date sounds good.” _

Three weeks later, Villanelle made her pack a suitcase. She wouldn’t say where they were going, because it was clear that they were obviously  _ going _ somewhere, but she did tell Eve that it would be hot and there would be water.

“ _ Wait!” Villanelle says in a rush. “Please will you pack the pink T-shirt you bought last week?” _

_ “Sure.” Eve says with a small shrug.  _

_ “And that beautiful green dress, the silk one. You look so lovely in it.” _

_ “Will do.” Eve says, reaching into her wardrobe.  _

_ “Oh, and the sandy blouse, from the hearing! And that satin head scarf I got you? The one with the roses on it.” _

_ Eve bites her lips together, fighting away a smile.  _

_ “Yes, ma’am.” _

_ Eve could feel Villanelle still loitering behind her.  _

_ “And maybe those cute navy shorts you got with Keiko? And-” _

_ “Villanelle, sweetheart, do  _ you _ want to pack for me?” Eve turns to face the other woman, eyebrows raised and smirk in place. Villanelle shrugs innocently.  _

_ “I guess,” she drawls, a ridiculous performance of nonchalance that has Eve chuckling, “if you don’t want to, or whatever.” _

_ Eve shakes her head.  _

_ “Just make sure you pack that light blue linen shirt I like.” _

_ “But it’s from New Look…” Villanelle almost whines.  _

_ Eve throws a Primark bikini at her head.  _

The following two days skipped by with Eve almost bouncing from excitement. She’d never felt this giddy, never so overwhelmed with joy and curiosity before Villanelle. 

That was a week ago, and now they’re here, halfway through. 

“What do you have in mind for dinner tonight?” Eve asks Villanelle as she finishes running serum through her bangs. A few weeks after the trial, the day she’d finally received her complete divorce papers in the mail, Eve had celebrated with a haircut. Same length, but with cute curly bangs that made her feel kind of  _ new _ . 

Villanelle had celebrated too, both the divorce  _ and _ the haircut, by borderline refusing to let go of Eve’s hair while they had sex on the couch. 

Needless to say, she was a fan. 

“I was thinking that fish place we passed earlier,” Villanelle says while applying mascara, “with the little vases of flowers on the outdoor tables.”

Eve smiles to herself. Villanelle picks up on the weirdest little details. 

“Okay.” Eve agrees. “Zip me up?”

Villanelle abandons her make up immediately and heads over to Eve, standing behind her and gently pulling up the zip to her jumpsuit, a gorgeous pink collared thing with short sleeves that Bill of all people convinced her to buy. Villanelle drags her knuckles softly against the skin of Eve’s back as she does so, then drops a kiss to the base of Eve’s neck. 

“You look ravishing.” She murmurs there, face half buried in Eve’s hair. Hands slink around Eve’s waist, hands settling flat on her middle. Eve covers those fingers with her own. 

“Thank you,” Eve smiles, “you look fine too, I guess.”

Teeth nip gently at her neck and Eve gasps. 

Looking ahead, she sees the two of them in the mirror she’d been using. Villanelle, wrapped around Eve in a sheer beige tulle dress embellished with red beads beneath the cups of where her bra sits, an absolute goddess in sandy mesh, and Eve, admittedly glowing in candy pink, with tanned skin and shiny hair and a heart so full it should maybe be concerning. 

“Hm,” Villanelle hums, kissing her way to the side of Eve’s jaw, “certainly only fine compared to you.”

“Don’t even,” Eve chuckles, “how about we both agree that we look equally fantastic?”

Villanelle hums again, then winks at Eve’s reflection. 

“Agree to disagree.” She says with a smile. 

Villanelle moves to pull away then, but Eve’s hands keep her in place. 

“Wait,” she says, “I want to look at us some more.”

“We are a beautiful couple.” Villanelle says, then her voice takes on a slightly lower tone. “This mirror could be fun later, no? Full length, floor space…”

Eve flushes warm.

To be honest, she  _ had _ expected the attraction to stay as high as it has when they first started, and she’s not been proven wrong so far. They both continue to want each other almost constantly, and each time Eve looks at Villanelle, whether she’s dressed to the nines or just waking up, her heart thumps excitedly. 

Villanelle says the same about her. 

But Eve hasn’t expected that she, herself, would maintain the amount of… sexual stamina that she’d had at the very start. She’d thought that the ‘forbidden love’ aspect of it all was part of what made her want Villanelle so ferociously every time she so much as even thought of the blonde.

But no. She had been proven wrong again, and happily so. The arousal is still very much... there. And Eve’s new appetite continues to hold steady.

Each taste and she is just left wanting more. 

So Villanelle’s comment, her not-so-subtle mirror suggestion, sends a very much now expected thrill down Eve’s spine. 

“I’m listening.” Eve says slowly, catching Villanelle’s eye in the reflection. Villanelle holds her tighter. 

“I am thinking you between my legs, spread wide, and me playing with your clit while we watch.”

Eve is learning that Villanelle truly does always cut to the chase when it comes to sex. 

And her direct approach is  _ hot _ . 

“Why later?” Eve says, voice husky as her arousal grows and her hips buck back the slightest amount. “We don’t have a table booked. Why not now?”

“Eve,” Villanelle chuckles breathily, tilting her own hips forward, “you are naughty.”

“But you’re not, are you?” Eve murmurs as she starts to slide Villanelle’s hands up her torso, still clasped beneath her own. “So why don’t you undo the zip you just helpfully pulled up, and fuck me....” she pauses, blinks slowly at Villanelle’s reflection, “like a good girl.”

Villanelle’s breath shakes against Eve’s neck as her hands move to the back of the jumpsuit. As she begins to unzip, she hums softly into Eve’s skin. 

“Yes, Eve.”

——

The fish is perfect, the wine is excellent, the company is everything Eve could wish for. 

God, being with Villanelle has made her so sappy. 

Or maybe, being loved by Villanelle has made her so sappy. 

“You look incredible.” Eve tells her, sitting at their little table beneath the stars. “Like, seriously unbelievable.”

Villanelle blushes at the compliment, which still blows Eve away because surely, surely Villanelle already knows this. 

It must be because it’s coming from  _ Eve _ , that flattering words from  _ Eve _ make Villanelle react like this. 

That still blows her away too. 

“Thank you, love.” Villanelle says, and that’s  _ another _ thing. Villanelle calls her ‘love’ now, all delicate in accented consonants. It makes Eve warm every single time she hears it. 

“So,” Villanelle says, tucking straight blonde hair behind her ear, “have you thought more about what to do with your riches?”

Villanelle has asked before but Eve had merely shrugged, no answer beyond ‘pay you rent’ to which Villanelle had scoffed unhappily at, but despite her insistence, Eve refused to back down. If she was living in Villanelle’s home, then she’d be paying towards expenses. 

But Eve has thought more about it, her 250K lump sum, acquired… somewhat illegally, technically, blah blah logistics, but  _ completely _ deserved. 

She had been unsure about bringing these new thoughts up, but now, sitting across from Villanelle, feeling thoroughly loved up and sexually satisfied, she thinks that maybe she can. 

“Um, yeah, actually.”

Villanelle looks intrigued. 

“Oh? Go on.”

“Well,” Eve takes a steadying breath, “Niko and I are selling the house, obviously.” Villanelle nods here, and Eve presses on. “So I’ll get half of that, which brings my amount up to something pretty, uh, decent.”

Villanelle nods again, patient and relaxed. 

Eve fights off her nerves. 

“So I was thinking, maybe, of buying a house.”

The drop in Villanelle’s features is almost invisible. 

Almost. 

“Oh.” She says, but even Villanelle’s performance skills can’t hide the disappointment in her tone. “Okay. Where… where in London? Will it be close?”

Eve realises that Villanelle hasn’t quite grasped what Eve is getting at. 

“Vil-”

“Will you need help moving your things back?” The blonde rushes on. “I can do that. And… furniture shopping, you’ll need to make a trip, I can help with that too, and-”

“Sweetheart-”

“No,” Villanelle says sharply, then instantly her face crumples in regret, “sorry, I’m sorry, I did not mean to snap. I… this is great news, Eve, independence is wonderful, and you are free now so buying your own house is of course the next move, and I will keep some clothes at yours and you will keep some at mine, it will be great, so fun, it-”

“Good lord, Villanelle,” Eve says in amused alarm, reaching a hand across the table to cover the blonde’s, “breathe.”

“I’m fine,” Villanelle says, clearly not fine, “I’m fine, I do not know why I am reacting like this, I am just… too hot, it’s warm, I have sunstroke, I should get more water-”

When Villanelle lifts her hand to get a waiter’s attention, Eve leans forward messily and tugs it back down. 

“Woman, will you  _ chill _ for a second?” Eve laughs exasperatedly. “I’m saying, Villanelle, that I want to buy a house  _ with you _ !”

Villanelle gapes at her, surprise written into every feature. Eve rallies. 

“I totally understand if it’s too soon,” she says carefully, “but I figured we kind of already live together, and it would be nice if it was something we both owned together, and… it’s fast, but… I don’t really see my future with anyone else, so… yeah. I want to buy a house. With you.”

Villanelle’s mouth closes. 

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Eve cringes. “God, it’s a dumb idea isn’t it. I’m sorry. Are you mad? We can just forget I said anything.”

“Eve,” Villanelle breathes, a grin starting to split across her face, “of course I want to buy a house with you.”

“Really?” Eve starts to smile again too. “Because… I figure, even if you match the amount I’d put in, we could get somewhere really nice. Maybe not as expensive as yours right now, but-”

“I don’t need expensive.” Villanelle beams. “I just need you.”

“Oh, that’s so cheesy,” Eve laughs happily, “so… you’re sure? You don’t need time to think?”

“I don’t need time.” Villanelle turns the hand still beneath Eve’s and links their fingers. “I want to buy a house with you. A cute one. Maybe a red brick terraced house? A two floor two bed is fine, I don’t really need much space, and furniture really can transform a room anyway. It will have to be in a nice neighbourhood though, I’m sorry, I do draw the line at that. Oh, and I would quite like to get a guinea pig…”

Eve tunes out a little. 

She can’t help it. Villanelle is sitting there, rambling about a house, their house, their future house, with the same level of excitement and enthusiasm Eve feels herself. She’s resplendent in sunkissed skin and flowing golden hair, sharp angles and soft edges, delight in her eyes and laughter in her voice, and she’s Eve’s. 

“I love you.” She interrupts Villanelle. “God, I am so stupidly in love with you.”

Villanelle sighs sweetly, and opens her mouth to say something, maybe say it back, until Eve cuts her off.

“But we are not getting a guinea pig.”

They discuss the pros and cons of tufty, house-trained rodents for the rest of the meal. 

——

Their first argument happens three months in. 

They’ve been searching for a new house for almost two months as well as going through the stress of Eve getting half the money from her shared house with Niko, who is determined to make the process as difficult as possible considering Eve bested him in court, and sort of… took away his mistress. 

The lunch with Gemma had been really nice, actually, if not a bit teary on Gemma’s part. The woman had barely been able to look Villanelle in the eye, and that was  _ after _ the initial surprise at seeing the two of them actually together. 

“So… he was right, then…” Gemma said, “about… you two.”

“No,” Villanelle said easily, “this happened after.”

“After.” Gemma repeated, a little apprehensive. 

“After.” Eve confirmed with a tight smile. “It’s amazing what a divorce trial and an accusation can do, isn’t it. Anyway, try the risotto!”

The lunch had gone smoothly after that, with Gemma telling them that Niko’s rage lasted a full week, maybe longer, but she’d left on day seven. His anger leaked through his words as a silent but seething vapour that Eve knew all too well, and Gemma had ‘seen the light’ as she put it. Eve even rested her hand atop hers in an act of comfort. Gemma was brave. Eve tells her as much. 

But anyway. 

The stress is there, attacking from all different angles, and it gets on top of them. 

“Vil, have you seen my cardigan?” Eve calls from the bedroom. 

“Which one?” Villanelle calls back, somewhere in the kitchen making dinner. 

“The blue one.”

“Which?” Comes Villanelle’s confused voice. 

Eve sighs irritably. 

“The old one, the one with the big buttons.”

“Oh,” Villanelle says, “that one. The knitted chunky thing.”

“Yes, the knitted chunky thing.” Eve rubs her forehead impatiently. “Where is it?”

“I got rid of it.”

Eve stops rooting through the drawer. She blinks. 

“You what?”

“I got rid of it,” Villanelle calls, “I got you a new one, it’s in the wardrobe. It’s a deeper shade of navy.”

Eve bites her lip and breathes. 

“You threw out my cardigan?”

“Yeah, you didn’t need it anymore? You have a new one now! Oh, and I got rid of the beige sweater thing too, I found this cute one in Whistles instead, you will really love it, it’s in the third drawer down.”

Eve stands. Blows out a steadying breath. 

It does nothing to steady her. 

She storms down out of the room and towards the kitchen. 

“You threw out my clothes?”

Villanelle throws a quick glance at her from her place at the cooker. 

“Yes…” she says slowly, frowning, “because I bought you new ones.”

“Villanelle, you can’t just throw out my things!” Eve says angrily. 

“Why are you getting cross with me?” Villanelle says, eyes wide. “I bought you replacements!”

“Because they’re  _ mine _ , you can’t just… throw them out because  _ you _ don’t like them!”

Villanelle presses something on the stove then steps away, closer to Eve. 

“You don’t like them either,” she says, confused and defensive, “you like the clothes I buy you.”

“That’s not the point!” Eve snaps. “You can’t just decide to throw out my things. It’s too controlling!”

Villanelle rears back like she’s been slapped. 

“Controlling?” Villanelle crosses her arms. “I am not controlling you, Eve, I’m trying to help-”

“By changing me?” Eve shouts. 

Villanelle looks aghast, taking another step towards Eve. 

“Never,” she says seriously, “Eve, they are just clothes, it’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal, Villanelle!” Eve yells, exasperated and taking a step backwards away from the blonde. “You can’t throw my things out, you can’t slowly change things without asking me!”

“But they were not nice enough for you!” Villanelle throws her hands out. “You are overreacting! I was doing you a favour, and buying you gifts because I love you! I do not understand what is so wrong about that? Please, explain it to me, because I am clearly missing something here!”

Eve stares.

_ Overreacting _ . 

She tries to centre herself. 

Villanelle really doesn’t get it, but is that her fault? She’s never been in a relationship before, let alone lived with someone. Villanelle is completely accustomed to doing exactly what Villanelle wants. 

Eve doesn’t know how to deal with this situation without making it worse or letting Villanelle off the hook completely. Neither are what she wants. 

So she sighs. 

“I’m going to take a bath.”

And with that, she walks into the bathroom and closes the door. 

Villanelle knocks thirty minutes later. 

“Eve?”

Eve doesn’t open her eyes, trying to relax in the bubbles. 

“What.”

Villanelle pauses, maybe at Eve’s clipped tone. 

“Can I come in?”

“Why?”

“I’m…” Villanelle starts, her voice a kind of timid Eve has never heard before from her. “I would like to talk to you. About earlier. Talking about arguments is supposed to be good, because healthy relationships are built on honest and open communication.”

Eve almost smiles. Villanelle has clearly been on those websites again, probably brushing up on her ‘how to be a good girlfriend’ material. The woman was obsessed, much to Eve’s confusion and amusement. 

So she almost smiles.

But not quite. 

“Fine.” She says, because regardless of the source, Villanelle is right. 

Fingers curl around the door once it’s opened and they push it wide slowly, then Villanelle peeks around, eyes sad, and slinks in. She leans against the door once it’s closed. 

Neither say anything. 

Eventually Eve sighs, sinks further into the water before she speaks. 

“So?”

Villanelle looks at her feet. This shy figure, this unsure demeanour, it’s foreign. Eve is used to confidence, and when there is no confidence she is used to calm. Either way, Villanelle is always content, always okay, even in her anger when she rants about a case, or in her pout when Eve says no to skipping work. Regardless of the emotion, she’s always  _ okay _ . 

But now, now she is… vulnerable. A little lost. No sea legs to keep her steady on the uneven waters of their current atmosphere. 

With a deep breath, Villanelle looks up at Eve. 

“Communication is the lubricant in the gears of a relationship, which is a dynamic thing that is something bigger than the people involved. When-”

“Wait,” Eve holds up a hand, “is this you talking, or did you read it?”

“I read it.”

“Where?”

“Internet.” Villanelle says quietly.

Eve sighs. 

“You and those damn articles…” she says, rubbing damp fingers across the bridge of her nose. “Do you- would you like to read the entire thing I’m guessing you’ve memorised?”

Villanelle nods solemnly. 

Eve  _ almost _ laughs again. 

“Okay.”

Villanelle shuffles a little, then continues her recital. 

“When communication breaks down - whether that is intentional, happens through lack of skill, or fear about what will happen when we open up - the relationship begins to lack the buoyancy and flow that is possible when people are clear and open with one another.”

Villanelle chances a step away from the door, then another, and another, until she is standing a foot away from the bath and looking between Eve’s eyes and her own hands, fingers twisting nervously. 

“Healthy fighting isn't about who's right or wrong. Rather, it's about both partners sharing their perspectives and finding a solution as a team. Healthy communication involves speaking with the intent of understanding your partner better.”

Villanelle’s nod is almost imperceptible and stands in place of punctuation as she finishes, looking expectantly at Eve. 

“Um,” Eve says carefully, “was…. that all? Do you have more?”

“No.” Villanelle says softly. 

“Okay, so, what do  _ you _ think?” Eve asks. “Without what you’ve learnt from Internet articles, what do you think?”

“I think,” Villanelle starts, “that communication is more important than I realised, and that we need to talk about earlier. I am struggling to work out why you are upset, but I know that it is valid that you are upset, so I would really appreciate it you could… help me understand. I do not fully know how to do this yet, and… I want to know what I did so that I can apologise properly for it.”

“How do you know you’ll want to apologise?”

“I don’t,” Villanelle shrugs a little, “but it is better if we both know why we do the things we do. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Eve sighs again, for maybe the millionth time that evening, and pats the rim of the bath by her chest. Villanelle lowers herself and sits cross legged on the tile floor, eyes hopeful and nervous as they stare. 

Eve debates giving Villanelle a lecture, a speech, harsh so that the blonde can see why throwing her clothes out and then telling her she’s overreacting are shitty things to do. She debates being blunt, debates letting Villanelle stew in her anxiety for longer, even debates saying nothing at all.

But that isn’t her style. 

That was  _ Niko’s _ style, she suddenly remembers. 

Eve will forever be thankful that she is  _ nothing _ like him. 

And so she goes for calm honesty, patiently opening a dialogue for the two of them. Letting herself be vulnerable too. 

“Niko used to tell me my clothes weren’t nice. Told me I dressed like a teacher who’d given up. Called them ugly more than a few times.”

Villanelle expression registers shock, then realisation. 

Then it crumples. 

“Oh god, Eve-”

“True though.”

“No,” Villanelle insists, “not true. Do not believe anything he has said.”

Eve smiles sadly at the woman. 

“Villanelle, you hate my clothes.”

“No, I don’t hate them!” Villanelle shakes her head, adamant. “I just think that you are beautiful, so… it is a combination of my own expensive taste, and wanting you to be the most beautiful you can be in better clothes.”

Eve rubs her forehead then lets her head tilt, studying the blonde through somber eyes. 

“Okay, but do you see the issue there? You’re saying I’m less beautiful if I wear ‘inferior’ clothing.”

Villanelle’s eyes widen further still, and she gets up onto her knees and wraps her fingers around the edge of the bath.

“No! No I’m not saying that, please, you are always the most beautiful!” Villanelle’s gaze grows shiny. “I just want you to be able to feel as beautiful as you are, as beautiful as I see you every single day, and… I thought nice clothes made you feel good, so...”

Eve covers one of Villanelle’s hands with her own sudsy fingers. 

“They do.” Eve tells her. “Sweetheart, they make me feel amazing, the clothes are gorgeous. But you can’t just… make the decision to throw my old things out because you like the new stuff better. That isn’t your decision to make. You don’t control me, Villanelle.”

“I am not trying to control you, I would never try, that was not my intention.” With surprise, Eve realises Villanelle is crying. Has she ever seen the woman cry before? “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Eve leans over and drops a kiss to the other hand holding the bath rim, brushing her lips softly against tight knuckles. 

“It’s okay,” Eve says honestly, “I forgive you. You weren’t trying to hurt me. You got excited. I’m sorry I got so angry without hearing you out first. Please just… talk to me next time, before making a decision like that. Don’t assume.”

Villanelle nods and lifts a hand to push a damp curl behind Eve’s ear. She lets her fingers remain there, softly stroking Eve’s cheek with her fingertips. 

“You are so beautiful. I just wanted to make you feel it.”

Eve smiles, and leans into Villanelle’s touch. 

“You do, every day. I don’t need fancy clothes to feel that way.”

Villanelle’s hand moves to cup Eve’s jaw delicately. 

“I will never buy you clothes again.” She says with complete seriousness. Eve huffs a laugh. 

“Woah, woah, let’s not get hasty,” Eve says with playful regret, “you can still buy me clothes. Just… don’t chuck my current stuff out, okay? That’s all.”

And Villanelle finally smiles for the first time since entering the bathroom, watery with the last of her tears, but warm. 

“I mean, technically I did not throw them away.”

Eve frowns in confusion. 

“What?”

The next day, Eve returns home from work late to find a surprise waiting for her on their bed. 

It’s her cardigan and sweater, both folded neatly and smelling of their fabric softener. There’s something small and wrapped on top too. Eve picks it up and tears off the tissue paper to find a gold brooch, clearly very old, with tiny red crystals dotting its surface. It’s beautiful, if not a little confusing. She looks to her folded clothes next and runs a hand over them. 

“Surprise!”

Eve looks over her shoulder to see Villanelle grinning slightly nervously, walking into the room and standing by Eve. 

“What…” Eve starts before trailing off, unsure where to start.

“I bought them back.” Villanelle says simply. 

Eve turns to her. 

“Bought them back?” She parrots, and Villanelle nods. 

“From the charity shop.”

“You donated my clothes to charity?”

“I am a philanthropist.”

Eve blinks. 

“And you... bought them back.”

Villanelle nods again. 

“Yes.”

Eve stares at Villanelle, then back down at the clothes, and then she laughs.

“C’mere.” She says through her chuckles, pulling Villanelle towards her by the material of her shirt and kissing her soundly. Eve smiles against her lips. “Weirdo.”

——

Their house is everything. 

It’s not red brick. 

It’s not black or white or grey brick either, not stucco or wood panelled, not stone or concrete, or a  _ boat _ like Villanelle bad absurdly had her eyes on for one concerning week. 

It’s  _ golden _ brick. 

The estate agent calls it ‘yellow brick’, but Eve and Villanelle know it’s golden. 

So obviously that’s the one they fall both for. 

The front is beautiful, with black and white tiles leading up to the door, a small front garden area that they plan on filling with flowers, and a huge bay window with white finishings. The two upstairs windows have the same white painted finishes, bold against the gold brick and framed by a climbing plant in luscious greens, making its way up to the roof. 

The back is just as gorgeous, a mirror copy without the bay window, and with a long narrow garden closed in by tall wooden fences, typical of London. The previous owner had taken good care of it; plants grow in neat rows along the central strip of grass, ending in an open area at the back that used to house a table and chairs. Eve tells Villanelle that she’ll buy them a wooden arbour bench. Villanelle tells Eve that she’ll grow pink roses up the sides. 

The inside is a mess. 

“This is a mess.” Villanelle sighs, hands on her hips in the middle of the living room. “I don’t know where to begin. Can’t we hire someone to do this?”

Eve hums from her spot sitting on top of a box that dips dangerously under her weight, but she’s too tired to care. 

“To unpack for us? Probably.” She says. “But you’ll just rearrange everything once they’re done.”

“I would.” Villanelle agrees. She surveys the room once more, packed with boxes and a rolled up rug and a dust sheet covered sofa. “Okay, come on.”

“It’s eight o’clock,” Eve almost whines, “we can wait ‘til tomorrow!”

“No, I want to do some of it now.” Villanelle insists. “So we can watch a movie.”

“Why do we need to unpack to watch a movie? Just find the laptop and we’ll sit on the floor.”

“Which was last vacuumed when?” Villanelle scrunches up her nose. “It is covered in dust from moving! Please, Eve, just help me move boxes? We can get the sofa in place and the coffee table, and we’ll set up the TV.”

Villanelle is staring at her imploringly, eyes wide and bright, brow wrinkled in frustration, mouth down turned ever so slightly at the corners. 

Eve’s heart does its usual, a somersault, an acrobatic move, a neat flip. 

She has an idea. 

“Okay, how about this,” Eve gets up off the nearly collapsed box, “you go get us takeout and I’ll sort out the room.”

“On your own?” Villanelle frowns. “Are you sure? The sofa is heavy.”

“Just leave it to me, and go get pizza? From that Brick place, the stone fired stuff they don’t deliver. I’m too tired to drive. Please?”

Villanelle eyes her suspiciously. 

“You are being weird. Do you have a secret lover coming over?”

“Yes,” Eve says, “I do, so if you could please leave that would be great.”

“Okay, then I will be back in twenty,” Villanelle smiles, grabbing her keys from the mantelpiece. “Think you’ll be finished by then?”

“The sooner you leave the sooner I can sneak them in and get it over with.”

“Okay, have fun, see you soon. Maybe just leave the sofa til I get back? I will help. Love you.”

The second the door shuts, Eve gets to work. She has twenty minutes to do something she’s never done before and will likely fail at, but she knows Villanelle will probably like it anyway. God. This is so domestic. Who even is she. 

When Villanelle returns, she stops dead in the doorway to their living room holding two flat boxes and a six pack of beer. 

“What… is this?”

“Surprise!” Eve cheers, gesturing around. “I built us a fort.”

Open boxes sit pressed against the wall. The sofa, truly too heavy to move on her own, also sits against the wall, but is now draped with various bed sheets that stretch out across the room and rest on the tops of a few of their dining chairs, tied in place with elastic bands and some tape Eve found in a carrier bag in the kitchen. 

Glowing from beneath the sheets are the fairy lights from the Christmas box, strung up between the chairs to create a budget starry sky along the sheet ceiling. 

The floor is scattered with every cushion they own piled on top of the now unrolled rug, alongside blankets and throws that have no business being on the floor, but whatever. 

All in all, it looks like a crappy version of a pinterest wet dream, but never let it be said that Eve can’t work with what she has available to her. 

She stands now, smiling awkwardly at Villanelle. 

“Do you like it?” 

Villanelle is gazing at Eve’s creation with wide eyes. Eventually she looks at Eve, her own smile growing. 

“This is so… pretty!” She squeaks. “We are like princesses with our own castle!”

Eve laughs at the glee on Villanelle’s face, and moves the lift up the sheet that acts as a door. 

“I thought we could eat our pizza and watch a movie in here. I know it’s not a set up living room, but-”

Villanelle interrupts her with a scoff. 

“This is better, this is  _ so _ much better,” she says as she inspects the fort’s strong and masterful foundations, “forget the living room, let’s keep it like this!”

Eve watches Villanelle practically jog through to the kitchen before coming back with just two of the beers and immediately crawling into the fort, leaving the pizza boxes on the coffee floor next to it. 

Villanelle squeaks. 

“Oh my god it’s amazing in here!”

Eve laughs. 

She grabs the pizzas and pulls up the sheet, and finds Villanelle already wrapped in a blanket inside, head and all, beaming under the warm glow of the lights. She eyes Eve in thought, smiling curiously. 

“You realise moving the sofa and TV would have taken less effort than I imagine setting this up did?”

Eve scoffs as she puts the boxes on the floor. 

“Shut up.” Eve tells her. She drops from her crouch to the cushions, half on Villanelle’s lap and jostling her purposefully. “Okay ET, move over.”

Villanelle pouts from under her blanket hood. 

“That movie is weird. I do not understand the alien.”

Eve settles next to Villanelle and opens up her laptop left there earlier. “Why not?”

“The whole time he just wants to go home. Why?” Eve sits up as Villanelle shrugs. “He makes new friends that he loves on Earth, why can’t he be happy with that?”

“Because everyone belongs with their family.” Eve says. Villanelle scoffs. 

“I don’t.”

They don’t talk about Villanelle’s past often. Eve knows she’s from Russia but left to live with her uncle in England. She knows she didn’t like it in Russia, knows that her parents are both dead, and knows that she doesn’t ever plan on returning. She knows she didn’t enjoy her childhood. 

That’s all Villanelle had shared, and Eve wasn’t going to push. Maybe Villanelle would reveal more as they went along, more little facts about Oksana to build up more of a story, but Eve would let her do it in her own time. It didn’t matter, in the grand scheme of things. 

“Oksana,” she says softly, “you do. I’m your family now. Part of it, anyway. And you belong right here with me.”

Villanelle watches Eve with a soft smile, then slowly slides her hand over Eve’s knee. 

“You are my family.” Villanelle repeats quietly. Eve grins. 

“Yep, and if it took a flying bicycle and a spaceship and a… uh, wig, or something to get you back, I’d go to those lengths.”

Rearing her head back, Villanelle scrunches her nose in confusion. 

“What? Eve, have you ever seen ET?”

“Yeah, like… 25 years ago?” Eve shrugs, glaring playfully when Villanelle rolls her eyes. “Gimme a break.”

Villanelle smirks and nudges Eve’s side with her own. 

“You’re old.”

“You’re dumped.” Eve nudges back. Villanelle gasps. 

“No, I like it!” She pleads with a grin.” You know I like it.”

“You do, don’t you. You gentrophile.”

“What!” Villanelle yelps, trying not to laugh. “Now  _ you _ are dumped.”

Eve lets herself fall backwards to the cushions. 

“Oh man. So, we’re both single now huh?”

Villanelle joins her moments later, slumping down and turning to face Eve. 

“Yep.” 

“Damn.” Eve sighs dramatically. “Oh well, I guess I’ll just do what single people do.”

Fingers tiptoe up her arm until they’re at her chin, tilting it to face Villanelle. 

“And what’s that?”

I don’t know,” Eve shrugs against the cushions. “I’ve not been single since 2002. I’ll just do what you used to do and hook up with random women.”

Villanelle’s laugh is delighted. 

“Eve, that is scandalous.”

“That’s me, totally wild.” Eve rolls onto her side so that she’s fully facing villanelle, then reaches out to run her fingers through soft blonde hair. “So, you’re single, I’m single… how about we get to know each other a little better?”

The light dances in Villanelle’s eyes as she smirks. 

“I tended to skip the formalities when doing this”

“Jesus.”

“What!” Villanelle laughs. “I didn’t care enough!”

“Okay okay. How’s this,” Eve clears her throat and drops her voice lower. “Hey.”

Eve’s chest flutters happily as Villanelle bites her lips together to stop herself from smiling.

“...hey.” she says in reply. 

“You single?”

“Yes, I was just dumped, actually.”

“Cool.” Eve nods casually. “Cool. So… wanna hook up in my fort?”

A laugh bubbles from Villanelle, who then raises her eyebrows. 

“Ooh, sexy.”

“Mhm,” Eve winks, leaning closer to Villanelle, close enough that their noses touch and their air is shared, “so, what do you say?”

The almost-brush of lips against Eve’s own is tantalising. Villanelle chuckles, smokey and soft. 

“I say…” she murmurs, only millimeters away, “I can’t. My pizza will get cold.”

Eve jerks her head back. 

“Villanelle!”

The blonde laughs, hand grabbing Eve’s waist and pulling her close, hips and chests bumping. 

“And also I am heartbroken! I will never get over my ex, she is too beautiful and I am ruined forever, so please, leave me and my pizza in peace.”

Laughing at the dramatics and the squeeze of the hand at her side, Eve manages to roll on top of Villanelle, pinning her down with her weight while grinning, heart so full of Villanelle, of glam suits and soft gazes, of second chances and first everythings, of sheet forts and pizza boxes. The fullness of it sits heavy and perfect in her chest, locked away in the safe confines of her rib cage, bursting with constant gold light. 

She brushes her nose along Villanelle’s from her position above her. 

“Take me back, baby,” Eve murmurs softly, “we never should’ve ended things.”

Their lips meet in a kiss, sweet and quick, the gentlest press. Villanelle squints at her when they pull apart. 

“Who are you again?”

“I’m yours.” Eve smiles. 

Villanelle bites her lip and nods, eyes shining with quiet joy. 

“Ah.” Villanelle says. “And who am I?”

Eve shrugs at that, kisses Villanelle’s cheek once, twice. 

“Some divorce lawyer, I don’t know.”

“And yours, Eve.” Villanelle kisses her with a smile. “Yours.”

And they kiss again, because they can. 

Because it’s  _ after _ . 

And it is golden. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they lived happily ever the end. 
> 
> Eve’s weird remarks about ET are my own, I haven’t seen it in over 15 years and cannot remember what happens AT all and I didn’t bother to look it up. 
> 
> Anyway wow, it’s over, cool! Thank you all for reading and commenting and kudossing (?) and sharing and tweeting and also saying things on other sites (I learned this recently)! It’s been so fun writing this story for you all. It’s large. What a large thing I made. I’m pretty proud! Major thanks to all my friends for helping and being supportive (gc x), and the biggest thanks to my house mate/best friend/actual lawyer for building the law skeleton of this fic that I essentially just threw meat and muscle onto x
> 
> Can’t wait to write more stories! I have one coming up that is angsty after writing this absolute sap-fest. I have a curiouscat @fixyfics, come say hi or drop prompts or whatever! I do have a main twitter account which some people have already stumbled across. Feel free to message if you see me lurking on other art and fic tweets! 
> 
> Anyways. Bye! Fixy xo 
> 
> https://curiouscat.qa/FixyFics


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